Charlie Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
by Lyricalyrics
Summary: Charlie Potter has been stuck with the Dursleys for as long as she could remember. All she had from her past was an odd-looking scar on her forehead, but when a gruff, half-giant man with a long brown beard comes and whisks her away to Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, she learns more things from the past then she cares too. RATED T BECAUSE I'M PARANOID :p
1. Chapter 1

** Hey, peoples!  
I've been wanting to do this fanfic for a long time; after I read all the fanfics about what it'd be like if Harry Potter was a girl, I decided to make an original one- not like those stupid ones which only replace the "he" by "she". It's going to be good, down-to-earth, and I'll try to make it as awesome as I think it'll be. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!  
. . .**

Charlie Potter lay awake in her cupboard, curled up like a cat as she tried to get some rest.

She was quite certain she'd been laying there for a few hours, and judging from the weak sliver of morning light that came from the slight crack in her cupboard, she assumed it must've been at least four o' clock in the morning.

It seemed like all her nights were like this: sleepless, exhausting, and simply pathetic. Her eyes were never bloodshot, but there were well-defined bags under those vibrant green eyes each day. And as usual, her aunt and uncle didn't care.

They resembled some kind of pig that mated with a horse, and they were the result. Aunt Petunia had beady eyes and a thin, black-ish mouth, and with her large teeth and long neck, she resembled one of those ugly horses you'd see at a cheap petting zoo. Uncle Vernon wasn't better; he had a fat figure, a chubby neck so thick that the plump tree growing outside the front yard couldn't compare. And Dudley, their son, was even worse- fat, red cheeks, small watery eyes, and he was so fat he looked like a beach ball with blonde hair, Charlie often noted.

But Charlie was different from them.

In fact, you would think they were from alien planets. Charlie was thin, with knobby knees, bright green eyes, long, disheveled black hair that fell all over the place, a playfully thin mouth and pale skin that looked sort of like bluish snow, but in a good way.

She was pretty, true, but her eyes were framed by large, oversized, round silver glasses, and she was constantly wearing baggy boy clothes that were hand-me-downs from Dudley, or old dresses that Petunia used to wear when she was her age.

The only thing she liked about herself was her scar.

It was a lightning-shaped scar on her forehead, usually hidden because of her long bangs. She never quite knew how she got it- all she knew was that it had seared her head the day of her parents' death, due to a severe car accident.

_Parents. Mum. Dad. _The words were so alien yet so completely familiar it made her dizzy. Her mind was clear of any early memories of her deceased parents, and all she could remember were some green eyes looking into her own; a warm smile and a kiss to her forehead. She knew it was weird to love some-one she never knew, but there was an ache when she thought of them.

A heartbreaking ache that usually tore her to bits and pieces.

Suddenly she broke out of her thoughts by a shuffle and a huge moan that came from upstairs. She quickly shut her eyes just as Aunt Petunia whipped open her cupboard door. "Up- get up!" She scowled, and Charlie pretended to stretch as she sat upright in her dark cupboard. "UP!" She screamed once more, sounding like a banshee than anything, and walked to the kitchen for a moment, where Charlie could hear the distinct sound of a frying pan clashing with the stove.

She frowned and stared back up at the ceiling. What was she dreaming about before? She vaguely remembered a flying motorcycle and a flash of green light. "Are you up yet?" Aunt Petunia's head poked in, and her beady eyes narrowed at Charlie.

"Nearly," She responded.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn," She glared for a second, and then continued. "I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday." With that, she slammed the cupboard shut.

_Dudley's birthday, _Charlie remembered with a groan. How could she forget?

She sighed as she began shuffling around under her bed to look for a pair of socks. After plucking a spider off of them, she slipped them on and popped out of the cupboard, not even bothering to take off the spider web clinging to her left sock. She was used to them, seeing as the cupboard under the stairs was filled to the brim with them, where she slept.

Mumbling under her breath, she walked to the kitchen, where Dudley was already brightening the day with his whines. In fact, his face was almost entirely hidden with piles of birthday present. Looked like he got the new computer he wanted- not to mention the racing bike, though Charlie wondered why he would even want it, seeing as though the only exercise he did was to roll around in his sleep, and to lift his fist to punch an unsuspecting victim.

Of course, his favorite punching bag was Charlie.

He couldn't catch her no matter how hard he tried, though. Even though she didn't look like it, she was quite fast. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard all her pathetic life, but Charlie had always been small and skinny for her age.

Uncle Vernon suddenly walked into the kitchen, barked a "Comb your hair" to Charlie in place of a "Good morning", and then plopped at the table and began to read his newspaper.About three times each week, Uncle Vernon would saunter into a kitchen, looking as though a stick flew up his butt, and shouted _Comb your hair _to Charlie. She remembered a horrific time of Aunt Petunia struggling with her hair, but she had finally given up when Charlie was about seven. Once, she even cut her hair off, leaving her long bangs to hide her "ugly scar". Charlie had spent half the night twisting around in bed, thinking of how the kids at school would jeer at her when they saw her.

But the next day, when she woke up, she discovered that her hair grew even longer than it had before over the night. She wasn't sure how it was possible, but she decided not to question it and just relax in her relief.

Her life was probably the opposite of relief, in fact. "_Stress" _and "_Torture" _seemed appropriate terms to describe it, in fact. By the time she was flipping eggs, Dudley was throwing a tantrum with his mother, which made her headache even worse. He was counting his presents while she was putting small plates filled with eggs and bacon onto the table, and his face drooped, making him look like an aged scarecrow.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

Charlie couldn't resist rolling her eyes, but the glares Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were giving her made her regret it.

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven, then," His face was slowly turning a deep shade of red until it looked like blood. Charlie's senses picked up a huge tantrum coming along, and she began to stuff herself as fast as she could with scrambled eggs before he turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia's Dudley senses were obviously picking up, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"

It didn't make sense to Charlie that she'd have to ask her son if two more presents for his birthday were okay, but then again, the only things she'd gotten for her birthday was Aunt Petunia's raggedy old teddy bear, with one of the button eyes missing.

Dudley glared at his mother for a long time, until finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty... Thirty... "

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," Aunt Petunia said, her eyes shining with admiration at the sound of her son _actually _counting.

Charlie almost barfed in her mouth.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled, though Charlie didn't really see the humor.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

_Seriously? _Charlie thought with disgust as she stared at her uncle. _You're encouraging it? _

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Charlie (with disgust) and Uncle Vernon (with adoration) watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking extremely angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," She muttered. "Mrs. Figg broke her leg- she can't take care of the girl."

_The girl, _Charlie glared venomously at her aunt. She couldn't remember _once _when they called her Charlie. No, it always had to be _her o_r _the girl, _like she was some kind of parasite. Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, and Charlie just sighed. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies- someplace fancy and fun, whereas every year, Charlie was left behind with Mrs. Figg, an old lady who Charlie thought was rather mad, who lived two streets away.

Charlie hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned, and it wasn't much fun looking at Mr. Whiskers, an old graying cat with droopy whiskers and an ugly, tattered pink snout.

'"Now what?" asked Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Charlie as though he'd planned this. Charlie knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded himself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested, but his forehead buckled.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl. Can't say I'd blame her," Aunt Petunia spat out, and Charlie's blood slowly boiled. _"Feeling's mutual," _She muttered under her breath. The Dursleys often spoke about Charlie like this, as though she wasn't there — or rather, as though she was something very stupid that couldn't understand them, like an old polecat, or Dudley. She knew she should've been used to it by now, but Charlie was so angry her mind almost blacked out.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," Aunt Petunia said morbidly.

"You could just leave me here- I'd be out of your way, then," Charlie chimed in, and the two glared at her.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" They snarled in unison, sounding like a pair of vicious dogs.

Charlie stared at her fists in anger, clenching them so tightly her knuckles were white.

'"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "… and leave her in the car…"

"What, like a dog?" Charlie's eyes widened, but they ignored her completely as they continued their argument.

'"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone…"

Dudley, who's face had been turning a vicious purple, pretended to cry, his arms flailing out to the sides, while Charlie giggled softly. Dudley was many things, but he certainly wasn't an actor. Aunt Petunia, however, fell for his act and rushed to his side.

"Oh, don't worry, Dinky Dudydums, Mummy's not going to let that evil girl ruin your day!" She cried, and Charlie pushed her chair back from the table in fury as Dudley gave her an ugly, cruel grin through his mother's arms.

Suddenly, the doorbell rung, and Dudley stopped crying immediately as Uncle Vernon opened the door. On the threshold was Dudley's best (and ugliest, in Charlie's opinion) friend, Piers Polkiss. He shot Charlie a glare, and she stuck her tongue out behind her aunt and uncle's back.

Half an hour later, Charlie was sitting in the back of the car with Piers and Dudley, off to the zoo for the first time in her sorry life. She smiled to herself as she stared at the window, but she knew the day would go wrong. For her, it usually did.

Right as they entered the car, Uncle Vernon made a point of taking Charlie aside and giving her a glare. "I'm warning you, girl, one funny business that happens on this trip and you'll be spending a month in the cupboard- with _no meals,"_ He hissed, and she shivered when his nasty breath fell upon her face.

Uncle Vernon complained along the way to the zoo to Aunt Petunia. For the first 5 years of her life, Charlie steadfastly believed that her uncle did nothing but complain about: Work, Charlie, the Bank, Charlie, the Sports, and Charlie were a few of his favorite topics.

This morning, it was motorcycles.

"… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them. Personally, Charlie adored motorcycles- they'd always fascinated her, with the roaring speed and the loud, purring engine- but she wasn't stupid enough to say it aloud. However, she was so excited about going to the zoo that words suddenly burst out her lips before she could stop them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Charlie, still smiling to herself. "It was flying."

Bad mistake.

"THERE- IS- NO- SUCH- THING- AS- FLYING- MOTORCYCLES!" Uncle Vernon shrieked so loudly the car jittered, and Charlie glared at the back of his fat, bald head from her seat. "I know, Uncle Vernon- it was only a stupid dream," She muttered, but he didn't seem to hear her.

She turned around as angry tears began to form in her eyes. She wished she hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions about her past, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas, even if it was a laugh.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the beaming old lady in the van had asked Charlie what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It was rather good, Charlie thought, licking it as they passed a gorilla scratching its head that looked extremely like Dudley, except that it wasn't blonde and as ugly.

Charlie had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Charlie was allowed to finish the first, even though she shuddered at the thought of eating anything that Dudley even touched.

Afterwards, though, Charlie knew it was too good to last.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cold and dark in there, with slivers of light coming from windows dotting the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of curious-looking lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons, whereas Charlie was getting extremely peeved at their obsession with violent creatures, even though she knew it was no surprise, seeing as though they were vicious animals themselves. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was sound asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, making him have an ugly pig-nose that made his face look even more hideous, if that were possible. "Daddy, make it move," He said in a whiny tone, and Charlie tried to resist the urge to bring her fist to his face.

Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass repeatedly, but the snake didn't respond to it. In fact, it was so still, Charlie wondered if it could be dead, possibly out of boredness out of having ugly, mean people like Uncle Vernon pester you all day.

"This is boring," Dudley mumbled and shuffled away to annoy another poor reptile.

But Charlie remained, staring long and hard at the snake. Almost as if she ordered it to wake up, he slowly rose up until it was head-to-head with Charlie, and gave her a wink.

Charlie, who'd never really seen a reptile wink before, stared at it in shock before smiling and winking too. The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling in annoyance. It gave Charlie a look that said quite simply:

"I get that all the time."

Charlie sighed sympathetically with the snake, and then mumbled, "I know- it must be extremely annoying to have blunderheads like them pester you all day," The snake looked (if it was even possible) _amused _as it nodded.

"Where'd you come from, anyways?" Charlie asked the glistening brown snake, happy at finally making a friend, even if it did happen to have fangs and a forked tongue. It jerked its tail next to a little sign next to the cool, smooth glass. Charlie peered at it- even with her glasses, she had a sorry vision.

It read, _Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Was it nice there?" Charlie asked, a bit wistful at the thought of being anywhere other than rainy, boring England. The snake jabbed its tail at the sign again and she read on: _This specimen was bred in the zoo._ "Oh, I see — so you've never been to Brazil?" As it shook it's head, a disgusting, familiar voice suddenly boomed.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT THE SNAKE IS DOING!" Piers screeched, and Dudley hurried back to the exhibit, jabbed Charlie in the ribs so she fell onto the ground, and stared at the snake with huge eyes. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it could have happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with screams of horror.

Charlie propped upright on one elbow to see what the fuss was about- and let out a croak. The glass in front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The huge snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People inside the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slithered past, Charlie could almost hear him hissing, "_Brazil, here I come- thanks, amigos," _Before she had enough time to blink, she was standing upright, thanks to Uncle Vernon grabbing the collar of her shirt and giving her a suspicious glare, while the owner of the reptile house wa blubbering, "But the glass- where did the glass go?"'

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only blubber to themselves. As far as Charlie had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Charlie at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"

Once they got home, and once Piers went back to his mum's house, Uncle Vernon turned on Charlie. He was so angry he could hardly speak, and his forehead had a huge blue vein in it. He managed to say, "Go — cupboard — stay — no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large cup of brandy.

Charlie lay once more in her dark cupboard, her stomach gnawing with hunger. True to his word, she hadn't had anything to eat for nearly three days- and since she didn't have a watch, she didn't know whether the Dursleys were either awake or asleep, and until she did, she would probably go mad with hunger.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that stupid car crash. She couldn't even remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead.

She had always assumed it was part of the car crash, although how the green light came in, she had no idea. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house, mostly because Aunt Petunia always hated her sister (jealousy, perhaps).

When she'd been younger, she'd always dream of some long-lost relative taking her in, but of course that could never happen: the Dursleys were her only living family, and she'd just have to accept that. Yet she sometimes thought the strangers on the streets seemed to know her. Once, a curious-looking man in a purple top hat had once kissed her hand when she was out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

After interrogating Charlie for almost an hour if she knew the odd man, they fled the store in a hurry and didn't even buy anything. Another time, a young, wild-looking lady dressed in blue had waved happily to her on the bus, and just the other day a man in a red tunic had shaken her hand and walked away.

The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to disappear the second Charlie tried to get a closer look at them.

At school, Charlie had no one. No friends, no nothing. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Charlie Potter character in her baggy, old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.

Ever.

**Well, guys, I think that was pretty amazing! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, and as promised, I hoped I was original enough with the story. Anyways, I love you all a lot, and with that…**

**Hugs, love, and all that jazz, **

**Lyricalyrics**


	2. Letters from No-one

**Hey, guys! I was glad to see **_**someone **_**took their time to follow me, and I really hope you enjoy this next chapter! **

**. . . **

The escape of the boa constrictor gave Charlie her longest punishment ever: By the time she was allowed back out of her cupboard, the summer holidays had begun and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Charlie was glad school was over, but there was no hiding from Dudley's gang, who visited the house every _single_ day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the five, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Charlie Hunting, which consisted of them beating her up with their grubby, filthy fists.

This was why Charlie spent as much time as possible out of the house, sitting on the rusty old swing in the small playground at the end of their street and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny sliver of hope blooming. When September came she would be going off to her new school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings; Piers Polkiss was going there too. Charlie, however, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny, for some bizarre reason, whereas Charlie had to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing at Smeltings' ridiculous school outfit on him, which consisted of maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried tall, thin sticks, mostly so they could beat each other up when the teachers weren't looking.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Charlie the other day. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Charlie, with a small smirk. "The poor toilets' never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick." Then she ran off, before Dudley could work out what she'd said.

But it wasn't like her own outfit was far better. She walked into the kitchen one morning and saw her scrubbing a pair of gray rags in the kitchen. "What are those?" She'd asked, and Aunt Petunia's lips tightened like they always did whenever Charlie even dared to speak. "This is your new school uniform," She finally said, and Charlie threw a disgusted look at the rags.

"Oh," She said, "I didn't realize it'd have to be so wet,"

Aunt Petunia sniffed angrily. "Don't be dumb- I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you- It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished,"

Charlie seriously doubted it, but she just bit her lip as she sat down at the table, and tried not to think of the humiliation she would go through on her first day at Stonewall High. Uncle Vernon took a seat across from her at the table with the usual "Comb your hair!" just as Dudley walked in clad with his Smeltings' school uniform.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Charlie couldn't speak at all- her hand was covering her mouth as she burst into a fit of quiet, shoulder-shaking laughter.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Charlie get it," Dudley muttered without looking up.

"Get the mail, Charlie."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting Stick, Dudley."

Charlie sighed, swooped down to avoid the stick coming her way, and went to retrieve the mail for Their Royal Highnesses. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Charlie.

Charlie's heart leapt. Nobody ever sent her mail before- she didn't have any friends, who could've sent it?

She peered closely at it, and her eyes widened. It was addressed by:

_**Miss C. Potter**_

_**The Cupboard under the Stairs**_

_**4 Privet Drive**_

_**Little Whinging**_

_**Surrey'**_

The envelope was thick and heavy and old-fashioned, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

She turned it over and bit her tongue in excitement. a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surround a huge letter _**H. **_

"Hurry up, girl! What are you doing- checking for letter bombs?" Uncle Vernon roared from the kitchen, then chuckled at his pathetic joke. Still grasping her letter with her long, pale fingers, Charlie walked into the kitchen as if in a trance. She gave Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust (he was so cheap Charlie wondered how he could've made it this far in his career), and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk…"

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Charlie's got something!"

Charlie, who was slowly unfolding her letter, glared at Dudley as Aunt Petunia ripped the envelope from her hands. "Let's see, girl, what you've got," She muttered, and as her eyes scanned the note her face became the color of rotten milk.

"Vernon- Come see this, Vernon!" She squeaked. Charlie stared helplessly as her uncle began to read the note. His face became very red, and his mustache twitched. "Give it back, you gits- that's _my letter!" _Charlie yelled and tried to snatch it back, but Uncle Vernon glared at her and read it again.

Dudley glared at his father and poked him with his stick. "Dad, I want to read it!" He whined, and Charlie was so mad she nearly pounced on him. Instead, she repeated, "Give me my letter!" And made a lunge for it.

"Get out, both of you!" Uncle Vernon ordered, but Charlie didn't move an inch.

"GIVE ME MY LETTER!" She screamed.

"Let me see it!" Dudley demanded.

"OUT! OUT! OUT!" Uncle Vernon roared, and, taking them by the scruffs of their neck collars, pushed them out of the kitchen. Dudley peeked inside the keyhole, and Charlie tried to peer through the slight crack between the door and the wall.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia said in a wavering voice, "look at the address — how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching- Spying- might even be following us," He muttered as he jerked the curtains shut.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want —"

"No," he replied firmly. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…"

But —"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took the girl in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

Later that evening, when Uncle Vernon returned from work, he did something he never did: He visited Charlie in her cupboard. Her eyes, glistening with angry tears, suddenly turned hopeful as she asked, "Where's my letter? Who wrote it?" Uncle Vernon pinched the tip of his mustache.

"It was the wrong address," He finally said. "It wasn't meant for you."

"Liar- it had my _cupboard _on it!" She protested, and his mouth suddenly twitched into a very odd smile. "Charlie, your aunt and I have decided you've grown too much to live in your cupboard anymore, and decided you'll move into your cousin's second bedroom," He told her, and her eyes widened.

Why?" she suddenly asked.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's brat of a sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Charlie one trip upstairs to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room- she hardly had any clothing, and of course she didn't have any possessions of her own. She gloomily sat down on the bed and stared at the room. Nearly everything in here was broken. The dusty old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

She picked out a book and began to read, not really looking at the words. She heard Dudley throw a tantrum downstairs.

"I don't want her in my room; I need it, Mum," he argued with Aunt Petunia.

Sighing, Charlie shut her book shut and stretched out onto her bed. A few days before, she would've jumped with joy if she heard this would be her new bedroom. Now, she wished she'd just be holed up in her cupboard with her old-fashioned, yellow letter.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Charlie was thinking about this time yesterday and sincerely regretted she'd opened the letter in the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Charlie (for a change), made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Miss C. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive —"

"ARRGH!" Uncle Vernon roared. He leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Charlie at his heels. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Charlie had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick and Dudley's fists, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Charlie's yellow letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard- I mean, bedroom- now, girl!" He shouted to Charlie. She clenched her hands and stiffly walked to her bedroom. Someone knew she'd moved out of her dark, spider-infested cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn't received her first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time she'd make sure they didn't fail. She had a plan. And even though in her gut she knew everything would backfire, she'd have to try to make sure she got that yellow letter before the Dursleys did.

When the broken alarm clock ringed at around 6 o' clock, Charlie silently crept out of bed, shut it off, and poked her head outside her bedroom. It was quiet and dark, but there was a very odd sort of sound echoing around the hall- sort of like a very large snore and an earthquake. She started to walk- but hadn't gone five inches when she stepped into something fleshy and big.

"ARGGGHH!" It shrieked, and lights clicked on upstairs and to her extreme horror Charlie realized that the big, squashy something had been her uncle's fat, piggy face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Charlie didn't do exactly what she'd been trying to do. He shouted at her for about half an hour, and then told her to go and make a cup of tea. Charlie walked miserably off into the kitchen and by the time she got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.

"My letters-" Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before her eyes, and she let out a muffled scream.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot, much to Charlie's extreme anger and disappointment.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

He didn't appear to hear her; instead, he cheerfully hammered the mail slot. On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Charlie. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

Charlie, with extreme worry, knew her uncle was going completely bonkers.

"Daddy's gone mad, Mum, hasn't he?" She heard Dudley whimpering to Aunt Petunia, and shuddered. If he thought so too, it must've been serious. On Saturday, things began to get even worse (For Uncle Vernon, anyways). Twenty-four letters to Charlie found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

Charlie had watched in helpless horror as they tore her yellow letters to bits.

"Who on earth would want to talk to you this badly?" Dudley questioned Charlie in amazement.

On Sunday, Uncle Vernon plopped at the table looking tired, and ill, and even uglier then he was before, but his mouth was stretched into a smile. "No posts on Sundays," He said gleefully to Aunt Petunia. Something came rushing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Charlie leapt into the air trying to catch one, until Uncle Vernon screeched, "OUT, GIRL!" And pushed her out of the kitchen.

When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time (much to Charlie's complete disgust, he now only had half a mustache). "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with his half-mustache missing that no one tried to argue. About ten minutes later, they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

And so drove. And they drove. And drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Charlie stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and trying hard not to cry, to scream, to throw a completely mad tantrum. They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel- a tired-looking woman in a stained dress- came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Miss C. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Miss C. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Charlie made a grab the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked her hand out of the way. The woman stared.

'"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

'Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Charlie of something. If it was Monday — and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Charlie's eleventh birthday. Of course, you could never call her birthdays _enjoyable- _on her last birthday, she received an ugly, old bow of Aunt Petunia's and a coat hanger- but you weren't eleven every day.

'Uncle Vernon was back and he was grinning so widely Charlie could see that his front teeth were chipping and growing yrllow. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked- quite timidly- what he'd bought.

'"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large, ugly gray rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable, tiny shack you could ever imagine. One thing was certain; there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the disgusting, milky gray water below them.

'"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"'

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped across their faces, making them shiver uncontrollably. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, stumbling along the rain, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms, and much to Charlie's dismay, she wouldn't be sleeping in either of them- no, instead, she'd be sleeping on the couch, next to the damp fireplace. And it grew even worse from there.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas.

He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully, and it took Charlie all she had not to lunge at him and beat him up until he was a bloody pulp (not that she could even if she wanted to, anyways). He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Charlie privately agreed (though she'd rather swallow a raw salmon then admit it), though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

As night came, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy, dusty blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Charlie was left to find the softest bit of raggedy couch she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

'The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Charlie, as usual, couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach growling with hunger. Dudley's snores, which were about as loud as an earthquake, were drowned by the low shrieks of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Charlie she'd be eleven in ten minutes time. Smiling slightly, she lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Charlie heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

And (two minutes to go), what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea? As much as she hated her life, she'd rather live without her note then die, death by crumbling rock.

One minute to go and she'd finally be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine — maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just for the heck of it. Three, two, one- _**BAM. **_

The whole shack shuddered, and Charlie sat upright in the bed, clutching her thin, worn-out blanket tightly. Something was outside the door- someone was trying to get in.

**I know this chapter wasn't very original, but I promise I'll portray Charlie as a bit more of a feisty character in the next chapter. Anyways, please review, and…**

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz, **

**Lyricalyrics**


	3. Keeper of Keys

**Hey, guys! I'm totally in love with this story, and as promised, I'll outline Charlie's own personality a bit in this chapter. Anyways, I sincerely hope you'll enjoy, and with that…!**

**. . .**

Charlie sat upright in her bed, clutching her thin, raggedy blanket. Someone was outside the door- someone was trying to get in. BOOM! They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly, and Charlie sighed in exasperation.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands – now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them. Charlie felt a surge of anger bubbling in her throat- so, if the person who's been writing her yellow letters came, he'd kill them? That was mental, even for Uncle Vernon.

Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you — I'm armed!"

It wasn't a very good threat, because the door was hit with such force and power that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor, making Charlie roll onto the floor and duck underneath the table.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

She propped up on her elbows and stared as the giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

'"Couldn't make me a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…"

Charlie, even though horribly frightened, sighed in sympathy at the thought of travelling in the cold, bitter rain over the sea and into the freeing little shack.

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger. Charlie burst into giggles, while Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon. He turned to grin at Charlie, who was propped up on her elbows and staring at him. "An' here's Charlie!" He smiled, and she saw that his eyes had smile crinkles around them.

"Ah, last time I saw ye was when ye were a baby," He told her with a kind grin, and her eyes widened. "Ye look a lot like your dad, but ye've got yer mother's eyes. Beautiful, ye are," He said, and she blushed at the compliment.

Uncle Vernon made a strangled gurgle, and the two turned to look at him. "I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room. Charlie stared in shock at the bent thing that once had been a long, slender rifle, and then turned to stare at the man.

"Anyway — Charlie," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Charlie opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Charlie written on it in green icing. Charlie stared at the man with tears in her eyes. She'd never gotten a birthday present before.

"Who are you?" She blurted out, and then blushed with shame. She'd meant to say 'Thank you', but the words mixed around in her mouth. The giant just chuckled as he helped her get onto her feet. "True, lass, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Charlie's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes drifted onto the shriveled up bags littering the floor, and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Charlie felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot, relaxing bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little, making Charlie scowl. It didn't matter that the stranger who brought food looked like a giant who lived in a cave- once food was involved, Dudley would do anything. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Charlie, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take his eyes off the giant, even though she knew it was rude to stare. Finally, seeing as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

"Er — no, I'm afraid not," said Charlie.

Hagrid stared at her.

"Sorry?" She said timidly, but he just spun around to glare at the Dursleys. "Sorry? Charlie, lass, you don't have to be sorry for anything. It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Charlie, but immediately regretted it as his smile hardened into a horrible line.

"All what, she asks?" Hagrid muttered to himself. "ALL WHAT!" He roared, and the Dursleys shivered into a corner. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl — this lovely lass! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?" Charlie felt her blood slowly boil. "I know lots of stuff, Hagrid. I know how to multiply, and to read and write, and-" She said slowly, like he was a child.

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Charlie.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

Charlie let out a croak of dry, humorless laughter. Famous? No. She wasn't famous. At all. "My parents weren't famous, were they?" She asked incredulously. "Yeh don' know… yeh don' know…" Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have screamed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" asked Charlie eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Charlie — yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"I'm a what?" gasped Charlie. It sounded like something from a fairytale book coming to life. '"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good 'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? A Squib? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Charlie put out her hand at last to take her yellow envelope, addressed in emerald green to Miss C. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Charlie's head like fireworks and she couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes she stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl. Charlie stared at it, and then turned to glance at Hagrid, and then turned to gawk at the owl once more.

He also took out a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Charlie could read upside down.

_**Dear Professor Dumbledore, **_

_**Given Charlie her letter.**_

_**Taking her to buy her things tomorrow.**_

_**Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.**_

_**Hagrid**_

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Charlie realized her mouth was open, and she clamped it shut. "Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"The girl's not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.

"A what?" said Charlie, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of her! Wizard indeed!"

Charlie swerved around to glare at him, her dark hair flying around her face from the wind whistling around the shack. "You knew?" she asked angrily. "You knew I'm a — a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

It seemed like she'd been waiting her whole life to say that.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as — as —abnormal — and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Charlie had gone very white, and she was glad it was dark so nobody could see the tears trailing down her cheeks. As soon as she found her voice she said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

Hagrid stared at her, and his eyes widened when she saw her angry tears, but they hardened again as he spun around to glare at Uncle Vernon. "CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Miss Charlie Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

"But why? What happened?" Charlie asked urgently, through her tears.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Charlie, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'.

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows —"

"Who?"

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Charlie, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…"

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out. "Can't you write it down?" Charlie suggested. "Nah — can't spell it. All right —Voldemort." He stammered, and he threw Charlie a small, sad smile. "Don' make me say it again, lass. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Charlie. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' — an' —"'

'Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad — knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find — anywa… You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Charlie. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts, an' you was only a baby, Charlie an' you lived."

Charlie stared in shocked silence out the window, not even bothering to hide the tears running down her pale cheeks as the moonlight illuminated her face. Something very painful was going on in her mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, she saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something else, for the first time in her sorry life: a high, cold, cruel laugh that was colder than the icy air drifting around.

Hagrid was watching her with sad etes.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot… ."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, girlie," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured, and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end —"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Charlie yelled so loudly her throat ached, while her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and they turned around to stare at her tear-trailed face. And at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley — I'm warning you — one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor, and Charlie took a seat next to him and silently snugged into the pillows.

She still had loads of questions to ask, hundreds of them, and sobbing about her dead parents wouldn't do her any good.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?"

Good question, Charlie. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back."

'"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Charlie. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Charlie with warmth, pride, and respect blazing in his eyes, but Charlie, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A witch? Her? That was a laugh. How could she possibly be? She'd spent her life being cuffed by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if she was really a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock her in his cupboard? If she'd once defeated the greatest warlock in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick her around like a football?

'"Hagrid," she said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch."

To her immense surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Charlie looked into the fire. Now that she came to think about it… every odd thing that had ever made her aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when she, Harry, had been upset or angry… chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found herself out of their reach… dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, she'd managed to make it grow back… and the very last time Dudley had hit her, hadn't she got her revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't she set a boa constrictor on him?

Charlie looked back at Hagrid, smiling with shining eyes, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Miss Charlie Potter, not a witch — you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If she wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop her from doing so," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter- their beautiful, talented daughter- goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself anymore. She'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a fat change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THE STUPID GIRL MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER —" he thundered, "— INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Charlie saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers, and she nearly choked with laughter.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and Charlie and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

"Are you _kidding?" _Charlie squealed. "Blimey, that was brilliant, Hagrid! Absolutely hilarious!" The laughter in her voice brought a smile to Hagrid's face.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Charlie.

"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?"

Hagrid looked suddenly uncomfortable. "No reason, lass." He coughed and then quickly changed subjects, much to Charlie's amusement. "It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and draped it across Charlie. "Don't mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' doormice in one o' the pockets."

Charlie smiled at him, and then rested her head in his lap and shut her eyes tightly. He went stiff, but then his hand hesitantly stroked her hair, and they both fell asleep soft and soundly.

**Okay, guys, I'm posting another chapter today, if you can believe it! I'm on a roll, and I really am enjoying writing this chapter. Anyways, if you can tell me what you think Charlie's like in the reviews, I'd be very happy. **

**Hugs, love, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	4. Diagon Alley

**Hey, guys! Told you I'd write another chapter today, didn't I? Gosh, three chapters in one day… wow, I'm on a huge roll! Anyways, PLEASE comment peoples, and with that, I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**. . .**

Charlie woke up early the next day. Although she could feel the sunlight on her face to know that it was morning, she kept her eyes shut, as if to hold onto that wonderful dream she had last night. She knew it had all been a dream, but maybe if she could just shut her eyes forever, then it would come true…

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Charlie thought, her heart sinking into her stomach. But she still didn't open her eyes. It had been such a good dream. Such a lovely dream…

The tapping noise sprung up again.

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up," She mumbled under her breath, and opened her eyes. Hagrid's arms was still draped across her, and the hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid was snoring on the couch, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Charlie jumped to her feet, feeling so happy that she felt the wind could carry her up in the sky, she felt so light and airy. She quickly opened the hatch on the window, and the owl fluttered in, poking her with its beak. A paper was in it, with moving pictures, and she stared in awe as it kept on poking.

"Hagrid," She said, "There's an owl who seems keen on poking me to death."

Hagrid gave out a muffled chuckle as he groaned in the pillows on the couch. "Pay him," He told her, and she glanced helplessly at him. '"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets — bunches of strange things, like keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags… finally, Charlie pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Hagrid, seeing as I'm new to this magic business, I don't-"

"The little bronze ones," He interrupted her, and she counted five little bronze coins. the owl held out his leg so she could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be off, Charlie, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Charlie felt her heart thump loudly and insecurely in her chest.

'"Um — Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"I haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night… he won't pay for me to go and learn magic."

As she said this, though, his smile just widened. '"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed —"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, girl! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold — an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?"

Hagrid rolled his eyes in amusement. "Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Charlie dropped the bit of cold sausage he was holding.

"Goblins?"

"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that."

Not knowing how to respond, they shuffled in awkward silence until Hagrid continued.

Never mess with goblins, Charlie." He warned. "Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe — 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Charlie followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Charlie asked curiously, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"Oh." She said in a small voice.

"Yeah, I know — but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Charlie still staring hard at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Charlie a sideways look. "If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Charlie, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Charlie asked.

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults.

"Wow."

"And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Charlie sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Charlie had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she'd never had so many questions in her life.

Or maybe it was just Uncle Vernon who didn't like to be pestered with, especially if the pesterer was Charlie. "Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page, and Charlie cocked her head slightly and stared at him with a fond smile.

Hagrid was her first real, human (well, half-human) friend she'd ever had. It was amazing to have somebody to talk to, to share her secrets with, and she felt like she could vent off everything horrible in her life, but she worried that would sound whiny, and she certainly didn't want to be Dudley #2.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Charlie asked, genuinely curious.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

'"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Mug- oh." Charlie faltered. How many wizards and witches were hidden in England, anyways?

"But why? Our- their- lives are so boring, I'm sure they'd love a little magic," She protested, and Hagrid gave her a bemused look over his newspaper.

"Why? Blimey, Charlie, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

Charlie sat back and stared at the waves, lost in thought. He was right, of course- Uncle Vernon was a good example of what would happen if magic was to enter Muggles lives- but it still seemed unfair that wizards and witches could have a cool, magical life, while Muggles lived so… boringly.

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Charlie couldn't blame them- a half-giant and a young girl walking down the street like two childhood mates? Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Charlie? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

" So, Hagrid," Charlie bega, panting a bit as she ran to keep up with his huge strides, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?" Charlie asked, surprised, but then again, Hagrid was a huge Keeper of Keys at a school of witchcraft and wizardry called Hogwarts.

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Charlie so she could buy their tickets. People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent, while Charlie just cheerfully smiled at everyone, happiness exploding in her chest like fireworks.

Still got yer letter, Harry?" he asked as he counted stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Can we buy all this in London?" Charlie wondered aloud, with a small curious smile.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Charlie had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

'"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said to Charlie as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily, quite like Moses did with the sea; all Charlie had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, Italian restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge, sick joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Charlie hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told her so far was unbelievable, Charlie couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, ugly, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Charlie wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Charlie had the oddest feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it. Before she could ask him about it, Hagrid had steered her inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few worn-out old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Cant- I'm on official Hogwarts business," He said, putting his large hand on Charlie's limp shoulder, making her knees buckle.

"Merlin's Beard," The bartender muttered as he stared at Charlie. His eyes drifted to her forehead, where her lightning-bolt scar was vaguely visible, and gasped. "Charlie Potter, in the flesh," He muttered, and instantly everyone turned to stare at her.

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent as everyone suddenly jumped up from their seats and crowded around Hagrid and Charlie. "It's an honor to meet you, Miss Potter- Names Daedalus Diggle," Said a tiny-looking, cheerful man in purple robes. "I remember you- you once shook my hand on the street," She said out loud, and he squealed, "The girl remembers me!"

Meanwhile, everyone kept on shaking her hand and telling her how proud they were to see her. The old bartender leaned over the counter, took Charlie's pale hand into his shriveled one, and whispered with tears in her eyes, "Welcome back, Miss Potter… welcome back."

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Charlie, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Charlie's hand tightly, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Charlie to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Charlie,"

Charlie mouthed a silent thank you to him, and Hagrid led her through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Charlie.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Charlie's head was swimming with questions. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up… two across…" he muttered. "Right, stand back, Charlie."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at Charlie's slack-jawed mouth. They stepped through the archway. Charlie looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them. Charlie's heart was thumping so hard it was a wonder it didn't explode. "Yeah, you'll be needin' one, Charlie," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Charlie wished she had a dozen more eyes. She turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to take in everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad…"

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Charlie's age (and some quite good-looking) had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it.

"Look," She heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever —" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was —

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him, and Charlie nearly squealed. The goblin was about a head shorter than Charlie, which was quite small because Charlie was none too tall. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet with long nails. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_**Enter, stranger, but take heed**_

_**Of what awaits the sin of greed,**_

_**For those who take, but do not earn,**_

_**Must pay most dearly in their turn.**_

_**So if you seek beneath our floors**_

_**A treasure that was never yours,**_

_**Thief, you have been warned, beware**_

_**Of finding more than treasure there.**_

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

Charlie, shivering, pressed herself against Hagrid's side and they walked inside, side by side.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss Charlie Potter's safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."'

'The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Charlie asked curiously.

"Can't tell you, lass," Hagrid responded mysteriously. "It's rather secretive. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Charlie, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Charlie tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. It made her head so dizzy the world spun for a few long seconds. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Charlie's eyes stung as the cold air breezed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late — they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Charlie called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"The difference is that stalagmite has an _m _in it," Hagrid called over. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling. Charlie awkwardly patted his back, but he just tried to smile and assured her he was as 'fit as a fiddle'.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Charlie let out a little gasp. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Charlie's. It put her into shock as she stared around at all the tiny, glistening coins surrounding them. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from her faster than blinking.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained with a grin. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh."

"The _rest?" _

He ignored her question and turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Charlie leaned over the side to try and crane her neck to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back by the scruff of her neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Charlie asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. They ignored Charlie's glares and Griphook ventured into the vault, only to return with a small brown pouch. Hagrid picked it up gingerly and stuffed it inside his thick coat.

Charlie knew better enough then to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life — more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts. Plus I need to give ye yer... privacy." His cheeks flamed as he said this, and Charlie just nodded with extreme embarrassment and entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, deary?" she said, when Charlie started to speak. "Got the lot here — another young lady's being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a girl with a pale, pug-like face perched onto a footstool, while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Charlie on a stool next to her slipped a long robe over her head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the girl, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," Charlie smiled.

"My mother's with Malfoy's father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the girl. She had a bored, high-pitched voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Mum into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Charlie didn't really know how to respond- in fact, the girl sounded like Dudley, so she just smiled a tight-lipped smile and nodded. "Have you got your own broom?" the girl questioned.

"No," said Charlie.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Charlie said again, getting a bit irked. The way she asked it was incredulous, like Charlie couldn't play Quidditch for the life of her. What was Quidditch, anyways?

"I do — Mum says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Charlie, feeling more stupid and uninformed by the minute.

'"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"'

"They're a fair lot," said Charlie, feeling a bit sorry for these Hufflepuff fellows.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Charlie while trying hard not to stare as the witch continued to fit her robes, and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in, even if he wanted to.

"That's Hagrid," said Charlie, pleased to know something the pug-like girl didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the girl, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's a Keeper of Keys," Charlie's temper was slowly rising up. She was starting to hate the girl.

"I think he's rather brilliant," said Charlie coldly.

"Do you?" said the girl, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Charlie shortly and plainly. She would rather eat eel's eyes then discuss her parents with the pigheaded girl.

"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Charlie could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Charlie, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the girl, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the pug-like girl.

Charlie was rather quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts). She didn't bother telling Hagrid about the conversation she had between the pug-like girl and herself, wondering what she could have possibly meant about the other kind.

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Charlie lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Charlie cheered up a bit when she found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Charlie, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know — not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Charlie, and told Hagrid about the pigheaded girl in Madam Malkins.

"— and she said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in —"

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If she'd known who yeh were — she's grown up knowin' yer name if her parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles — look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"So what is Quidditch?" Charlie asked.

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like — like soccer in the Muggle world — everyone follows Quidditch — played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls — sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but —"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Charlie gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry —You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Charlie's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Charlie away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley!" She complained loudly, and Hagrid chuckled. "I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Charlie buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope, which Charlie rather adored. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy, disgusting stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Charlie, Charlie herself examined glistening white silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left — A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Charlie felt herself go red.

"You don't have to —"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at — an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Charlie now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing.

She couldn't stop stammering her thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell. "Don' mention it, lass." said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now — only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand… this was what Charlie had been really looking forward to.

She imagined a large shop, filled with glistening white wands and sparkling yellow stars on top, but it wasn't like that at all.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window, looking more like a toilet-scrubber then a magical object.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Charlie felt oddly as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, and Charlie jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Charlie awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Miss Charlie Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Charlie, so close she could hear him breathing. Charlie wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration." Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Charlie were almost nose to nose. Charlie could see herself reflected in those misty eyes, and frowned at how her hair looked. It was always rather untidy, but now it shagged just about everywhere.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Charlie's forehead with a long, white finger, and she shivered.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

He shook his head and then, to Charlie's extreme relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er — yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Charlie noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly- and nervously- as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now — Miss Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Charlie.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Charlie from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Charlie suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Charlie took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —"'

Charlie tried — but she'd hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."'

And so Charlie tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for- a long flickering spark, perhaps? The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."'

Charlie took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her long, pale fingers, which were clutching the wand rather tightly. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"

He put Charlie's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"

"What's so curious, sir?" She finally asked, and he spun around to stare out her.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar."

Charlie didn't move.

Nor did she think she would, even if she could. She stared at Mr. Ollivander with huge eyes that reflected with slight anger, a little fear, and a bit determination. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

Charlie shivered and snuggled into Hagrid's side. She wasn't sure she liked Mr. Ollivander too much. She paid seven gold Galleons for her wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Charlie and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Charlie didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Charlie's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Charlie only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Charlie a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Charlie kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, so different, somehow.

"You all right, lass? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Charlie wasn't sure she could explain. She'd just had the best birthday of his life — and yet — she chewed her greasy hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night my parents died. I'm nothing."

Hagrid leaned over and smiled kindly at Charlie. "Don' you worry, Charlie. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Charlie on to the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed him an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September — King's Cross — it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me… . See yeh soon, Harry."

The train pulled out of the station. Charlie wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in his seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.

Hello, fellow sorcerers! How did the chapter go? I think it went rather well, and I'll remind you that I'll be adding my own words along the story, if that's alright. Anyways, please review, and with that…

Loves, hugs, and all that jazz,

Lyricalyrics


	5. Platform 9 34

**Hey, guys! I want to thank a certain somebody for noticing that I've been putting "Harry" or "him" instead of "Charlie" or "her", so I deeply apologize and I'm crossing my fingers I wont make any spelling mistakes. If I do, it's totally my fault, and the funny thing is I'm actually considering to make Charlie's middle name Harry, because I use it too much, but I don't know… tell me what you think of it! Anyways, here's your new chapter- enjoy!**

**. . .**

Charlie's last month with the Dursley's weren't fun- but then again, they never were, anyways.

The last month was worse, though, in some ways. They stopped calling her names and abusing her, but now they were much to frightened as to even speak to her, and even though it was an improvement in several ways, Charlie felt slightly lonely and isolated.

So she kept to her room, with her new owl for company. She had decided to call her Hedwig, a name she'd found in A History of Magic. Her school books were very interesting, too. She'd lay up in bed reading at night- she couldn't risk being caught by Uncle Vernon, who already confiscated one of her quills.

Hedwig swooped in and out of the window whenever she pleased, and it was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because Hedwig kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before she went to sleep, Charlie ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had pinned to the wall, counting down to September first.

On the last day of August she thought she'd better speak to her aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, and even though she wasn't proud that she waited until the last minute, she had a nagging worry that she'd have to walk the whole way.

So she walked to the living room, where they were all watching a stupid trivia show about banks, and coughed to let them know she was there. Dudley looked up, squeaked, and ran as fast as he could- which wasn't very fast- out of the room and into his bedroom.

"Er — Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia?"

They both grunted to show they were listening.

"Er — I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to — to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted, while Aunt Petunia looked as though Charlie asked if she could buy a barrel of unicorn eyes to eat.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt. Charlie, who finally mastered the art of speaking troll, supposed that meant yes.

"Thanks." She said, and then turned to leave, when Uncle Vernon started to speak.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Charlie crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him.

"I sincerely doubt it."

"Where is this school, anyway?" Uncle Vernon asked casually, but a thread of disgust fell into his voice.

"I haven't the foggiest," Charlie said, realizing suddenly that Hagrid never told her where it was, and pulled out the train ticket Hagrid had gave her to examine it.

"It just says that I take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," she read out loud. Her aunt and uncle stared at her as if she'd just swallowed a toad.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish, girl," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"That's what it says on my ticket," Charlie gave a dismissive shrug.

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Charlie asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

Charlie couldn't help the giggle that escaped her mouth, and her aunt glared at her with a sour expression- or was that her face? It was hard to tell, seeing as though she looked as if she'd swallowed a lemon every second of her life.

She woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. She got up and pulled on her jeans because she didn't want to walk into the station in her wizard's robes, seeing as though the Muggles might think her mad, and anyways, she'd change on the train.

She checked her Hogwarts list for about the fifth time to make sure she had everything she needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Charlie's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had bribed Dudley into sitting next to Charlie, and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Charlie's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for her. Charlie thought this was strangely, uncharacteristically kind and was about to thank him until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, girl. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

'"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Charlie turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. She felt her heart lurch uneasily and took a deep breath. Everyone was staring rather oddly at her, but she'd have to ask somebody for directions.

She stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Charlie couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though she was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Charlie asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Charlie was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, she had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and she had no idea how to do it; she was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk she could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell her something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. She wondered if she should get out her wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten, but decided not to, seeing as the Muggles thought her crazy enough.

At that moment a group of people passed just behind her and she caught a few words of what they were saying.

"— packed with Muggles, of course —"

Charlie whirled around. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Charlie's in front of them — and they had an owl.

Heart fluttering with hope, she dashed after them. They stopped and so did she, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother, and Charlie almost squealed with relief and excitement.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten.

Charlie watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it — but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

'"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"'

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went, and Charlie grinned after him.

His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone — but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Charlie said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose. He was kind of cute, but Charlie thought of him as a possible friend, nothing more.

"Yes," Charlie stammered. "The thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to —"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Charlie nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er — okay," said Charlie, uneasily.

She pushed her trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

She started to walk toward it. People jostled her on their way to platforms nine and ten. Charlie walked more quickly. She was going to smash right into that barrier and then she'd be in trouble — leaning forward on her cart, she broke into a heavy sprint — the barrier was coming nearer and nearer — she wouldn't be able to stop — the cart was out of control — she was a foot away — she closed his eyes ready for the crash —

It didn't come… she kept on running… she opened her eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts' Express, eleven o'clock. Charlie looked behind her in amazement and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. She had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Charlie pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."'

"Oh, Neville," she heard the old woman sigh.

A handsome boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd, and Charlie came to the conclusion he was one of those popular, artsy types- not at all like Dudley, someone she'd like to be friends with.

'"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Charlie shuddered as she pressed on through the crowd until she found an empty compartment near the end of the train. She put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave her trunk toward the train door. She tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice she dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins she'd followed through the barrier, and she blushed as she nodded.

"Yes, please," She smiled a small grin at him, and he grinned back.

With the twins' help, Charlie's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Charlie, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Charlie's lightning scar, and she blushed and looked down.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you —?"

"She is," the first twin said in astonishment, "Aren't you?"

Charlie sighed- she didn't want to go through something like the scene at Diagon Alley again.

"What?" She asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Charlie Potter." chorused the twins.

"Oh, her," said Charlie, and then rolled her eyes at how stupid she sounded.

'"I mean, yes, I am."

The two boys gawked at her, and Charlie felt herself turning red.

'Then, to her immense relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom."

With a last gawking look at Charlie, the twins hopped off the train.

Charlie sat down next to the window where, half hidden, she could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. She'd sock them if they said anything about her…

Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose, and Charlie stared enviously at them. He didn't know how lucky he was- she'd pay all the money in her Gringotts fault if her mother could come back to the dead and wipe her nose, too, with a handkerchief.

"Mom— geroff," He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins, and Charlie let out a soft laugh.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight, looking as if he had a stick up his bottom. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Charlie noticed a red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves —"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great, faked surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once —"

"Or twice —"

"A minute —"

"All summer —"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect, and Charlie let out another laugh under her breath. She thought those twins and her could come along famously.

'"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've — you've blown up a toilet or —" Charlie couldn't help her fit of small giggles, but luckily they didn't hear her laughing.

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us." Charlie frowned after this one. It was funny at first, but she sensed some serious sibling rivalry between the three.

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?" One of the twins said, and Charlie groaned. Here it came.

Charlie leaned back quickly so they couldn't see her looking.

"You know that pretty black-haired girl who was near us in the station? Know who she is?"

_Pretty? _Charlie wondered with a blush.

"Who?"

"Charlie Potter!" They both exclaimed, and Charlie glared at the back at their red heads. Next time she'd see them, she'd curse them to oblivion.

Charlie heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see her, Mum, please…"

"You've already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked her. Saw her scar. It's really there — like lightning."

"Poor dear — no wonder she was alone, I wondered. She was ever so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"'

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask her, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though she needs reminding of that on her first day at school."

"All right, all right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts' toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mum."

The train began to move. Charlie saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

Charlie watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Charlie felt a great leap of excitement. She didn't know what he was going to — but it had to be better than what she was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Charlie. "Everywhere else is full."

Charlie shook her head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Charlie and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Charlie saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back, and Charlie gave them a half-smile, half-glare.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

They glanced at Charlie to see if she was impressed, but she merely crossed her arms, gave a half-smile, and stared longingly out the window.

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Charlie," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye." Charlie and Ron chorused in unison, and then glanced at each other in surprise. The twins gave a knowing smile at each other, and then shut the compartment door and, still smiling knowingly, left.

"Are you really Charlie Potter?" Ron blurted out.

Charlie nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got — you know…"

He pointed at Charlie's forehead.

Charlie sighed and pulled back her bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who —?"

"Yes," said Charlie, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"If you're asking whether I remember how he almost tried to kill me as I watched my parents die, then no." Charlie said, and Ron blushed scarlet red.

"Sorry," She said quickly, at Ron's crestfallen face. "But I actually do remember a ton of green light coming at me…" She trailed off, and Ron perked up.

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Charlie for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Charlie, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found her.

"Er — Yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pigheaded girl in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrid — well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five, actually." said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

"Me too!" Charlie exclaimed, and then explained. "My aunt and uncle give me everything that ever was my cousin's- his pacifier, his old baby bibs, even his _clothing_." She shuddered and tugged on her oversized, blue shirt, and they smiled sympathetically at each other.

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff — I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Charlie didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, she'd never had any money in her life until a month ago, and she told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old things- "even his _UNDERWEAR!"- _ and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

"… and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort —"

Ron gasped.

"What?" Charlie asked, surprised.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people —"

Charlie raised one arched black eyebrow.

"I'm not trying to be brave, or anything. Names shouldn't be something you've got to shudder at, and anyways, I didn't even know his name until a month ago. I got a ton to learn- I bet I'll be the worst in the classes," She voiced a worry that had nagged her ever since she'd found out since she was a witch.

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Charlie, who hadn't had any breakfast- which consisted of stale toast and lukewarm water- leapt to her feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Charlie went out into the corridor.

She had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that she had pockets rattling with gold and silver she was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as she could carry — but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Charlie had never seen before in her life. Not wanting to miss anything, she got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Charlie brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," replied Charlie, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef…"

"Swap you for one of these," said Charlie, holding up a pasty. "Go on —"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," Charlie insisted, and he tentatively took one, then smiled.

"Thanks, Charlie," He said, and they began laughing and talking about their lives at home as they feasted on their candy. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron as they laughed and ate and talked, because for once in her life she'd been able to share something the other didn't have; because for once in her life she had a friend she could actually talk to and confide in, even if she only met the boy a half-hour before.

"What are these?" Charlie asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?" She was starting to feel that nothing would surprise her. '"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know — Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Charlie unwrapped her Chocolate Frog gingerly and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Charlie with a grin.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa — thanks —"

Charlie turned over her card and read:

_**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**_

_**CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS**_

_**Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.**_

Charlie snorted at that, turned the card back over and saw, to her amazement, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her… do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Charlie. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "Weird!"

Charlie just stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on her card and gave her a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Charlie couldn't keep her eyes off them. Soon she had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. She finally tore her eyes away from the Druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, and turned to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Charlie. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavored one once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh — see? Sprouts," He said, and Charlie laughed at his small grimace.

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Charlie got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end of a funny gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now the scenery consisted of woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Charlie had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Charlie, with a kind smile. '

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…"

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap, and Charlie threw a disgusted look at its droopy whiskers. It reminded her of Mr. Whiskers from Mrs. Figgs, which brung back painful memories of looking at old cat photos.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…"

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway —"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes, which looked a little snobby, in Charlie's opinion.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth. She wasn't exactly pretty, but there was this intelligent glint in her soft, hazel eyes.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback, and Charlie wanted to rip her hair off. This _bossy _girl sounded so superior, like she was _so _much better than Ron and Charlie. But Ron'd show her, though, Charlie smiled confidently and turned to look at Ron's spell.

'"Er — all right."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

Charlie put her head in her hands miserably.

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard — I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"'

She said all this rather quickly.

"I'm Ron Weasley, and this is Charlie Potter!" He said, putting his chest out proudly, like knowing Charlie would give him bonus social points. Hermione gaped at Charlie, and she blushed and looked down, but not before Hermione's eyes locked onto her scar.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I?" Charlie said dazedly, but Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron, which was quite mean, but Charlie secretly agreed. She'd probably be in Ravenclaw, _"the house of geeks and smart, goody too-shoes," _Ron had told her.

He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell — George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud." Charlie touched his arm affectionately, and he gave her a small smile before suddenly blushing.

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Charlie, completely oblivious to what had triggered his flush.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be _that _bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

'"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Charlie, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

Charlie was wondering what a wizard- or witch- did once they'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron.

"Oh," Charlie said meekly.

"Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault." Ron asked, and Charlie stared at him.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Charlie pondered the news over in her mind. She was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. She supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er — I don't know any." Charlie confessed, blushing.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world —" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Charlie through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Instead, it was the pug-like girl from Diagon Alley, with a pale blonde boy next to her, and a couple of snarling kids behind them. She was looking at Charlie with a lot more interest than she'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" she asked. "They're saying all down the train that 'Miss Charlie Potter' is in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yeah." Charlie mumbled. She was looking at the other boy. He looked handsome but cold, with his white-blonde hair and icy blue eyes that locked onto hers with a smirk. The other two were all thickset, ugly, and large, and surrounded the girl and boy like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Charlie was staring. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Charlie raised her eyebrows and sat back in her seat with glaring eyes. Dudley #2 was finally here. Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Charlie, and the pug-like girl smirked at her. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, but she snatched it back and wiped it on Ron's shirt, who let out a loud "HEY"!

But she did notice, with some satisfaction, that the smirk on the pug-like girl's face wilted- instead, she glared venomously at Charlie, who gave her a knowing smile.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," she snapped, and they all glared at her.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Ron glared as Charlie went pale white, but they both stood up and glared at Draco with flashing eyes.

"Say that again," Ron spat out, his face as vibrant red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, aren't you," The pug-like girl sneered, and Draco grinned wickedly.

"Unless you get out now," Charlie fumed, more bravely than she felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than her or Ron.

"But we don't feet like leaving, do we? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron — Ron leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle.

Crabbe and Malfoy, and his girlfriend backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What has been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Charlie, completely ignoring Hermione. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No — I don't believe it — he's gone back to sleep."

They both laughed nervously, but Hermione glared at both of them.

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

All right — I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

They both glared at her venomously as she flounced away.

Charlie peered out of the window. It was getting dark. She could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

She turned around and began to change out of her jacket and into her long black robes, extremely thankful that she'd decided to put on a white undershirt that morning. Ron blushed as he averted his eyes and did the same, but they were both giddy as they sat together in their long, billowy black robes and waited eagerly to get to Hogwarts.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Charlie's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, she saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Charlie shivered in the cold night air, wishing she could put her jacket over her robes and knowing she'd probably get dress-code violated or something of the sort. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Charlie heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!", and Charlie gasped in astonishment.

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Charlie ever saw in her entire life, and she gazed at it with huge eyes as the wind whipped her long, black hair against her face.

No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Charlie and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands, and Ron softly snickered at the sight. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

**Okay, guys, so that was the end of the chapter! I checked two times if I made any spelling mistakes, but I'm not so sure I did, so if you can point some out I'd be much obliged. Anyways, thanks a ton and please review, and with that…**

**Hugs, love, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	6. The Sorting Hat

**Hey, guys! I noticed at least two of my spelling errors after reviewing the last chapter, so I don't know if I'm going to make Charlie's middle name Harry, because it sounds **_**wa-a-ay to masculine. I do want to make a middle name for her though… if you have any suggestions- maybe Hallow, out of respect for the Deathly Hallows? Anyways, I'd love to hear your opinions, so **__**DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT! **_**Anyways, here's your chapter- enjoy!  
. . .**

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, and Charlie's grip on Ron's forearm tightened in anticipation. The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Charlie's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Charlie could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right -the rest of the school must already be here - but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose.

Charlie nervously tried to flatten her hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Charlie swallowed and stared after her.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" she asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Charlie's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But she didn't know any magic yet - what on earth would she have to do? She hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived.

She looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Charlie felt like she was trying hard to rub the fact that Charlie didn't know one measly magic _word, _but less a _spell. _

She'd never been more nervous, never, not even when she'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that she'd somehow turned her teacher's wig blue. She kept her eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead her to her doom. Charlie mentally slapped herself for being so pessimistic, but it was true. She'd make herself a fool in front of the whole school- she could just imagine Draco's smirk and his girlfriend's leering sneer.

"_Some great Girl-who-Lived," He'd smirk._

"_BOO! Potty sucks!" His girlfriend would scream in response, and the rest of the house would jeer as she ran off, hopped on the train, and went back to the Dursleys. _

She shuddered and leaned against Ron for support.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air - several people behind him screamed.

"What the -?"

She gasped. So did the people around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing.

What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Charlie got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron right behind her, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Charlie had never even imagined such an odd and lovely place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.

These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.

The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Charlie looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

Charlie sighed in exasperation and heard Ron do the same behind her.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Charlie thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing - noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing:

_**"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,**_

_**But don't judge on what you see,**_

_**I'll eat myself if you can find**_

_**A smarter hat than me.**_

_**You can keep your bowlers black,**_

_**Your top hats sleek and tall,**_

_**For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat**_

_**And I can cap them all.**_

_**There's nothing hidden in your head**_

_**The Sorting Hat can't see,**_

_**So try me on and I will tell you**_

_**Where you ought to be.**_

_**You might belong in Gryffindor,**_

_**Where dwell the brave at heart,**_

_**Their daring, nerve, and chivalry**_

_**Set Gryffindors apart;**_

_**You might belong in Hufflepuff,**_

_**Where they are just and loyal,**_

_**Those patient Hufflepuffs are true**_

_**And unafraid of toil;**_

_**Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,**_

_**if you've a ready mind,**_

_**Where those of wit and learning,**_

_**Will always find their kind;**_

_**Or perhaps in Slytherin**_

_**You'll make your real friends,**_

_**Those cunning folk use any means**_

_**To achieve their ends. **_

_**So put me on! Don't be afraid!**_

_**And don't get in a flap!**_

_**You're in safe hands (though I have none)**_

_**For I'm a Thinking Cap!"**_

The whole Great Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Charlie. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

They both shot angry glances to each other and made a silent agreement that next time they saw the two, they'd give them a hexing they wouldn't forget anytime soon.

Charlie smiled, despite the anger towards the twins. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but she did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Charlie didn't feel brave or cunning or patient or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit nauseous, that would have been the one for her and Ron.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pretty, pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause until-

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Charlie saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. " Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, much to Ron's envy, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Charlie could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling, and just chuckled as she shook her head.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Charlie's imagination, after all she'd heard about Slytherin, but she thought they looked like an unpleasant lot, with snarling faces and wicked, glinting eyes.

Charlie was starting to feel definitely sick now. She remembered being picked for teams during gym at her old school. She had always been last to be chosen, not because she was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked her, even if a few did.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Charlie noticed with fascination, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Charlie in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A terrible, horrible thought struck Charlie, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if she wasn't chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat over her eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and said there had obviously been a mistake and she'd better get back on the train? She knew it most likely wouldn't happen, but no matter what, her stomach kept churning.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool, and almost all the Slytherins jeered at him. Charlie _definitely _didn't want to go into Slytherin now- or what she called it, _The House of Dudley clones. _

The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" (Charlie wasn't surprised) Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

Charlie rolled her eyes.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and then, at last - "Potter, Charlie!"

As Charlie took a deep breath stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Charlie Potter?"

The last thing Charlie saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She waited a bit impatiently for her to decide, and she heard it chuckle.

Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Fiery, plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either- very curious, indeed. There's talent, my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Charlie gripped the edges of the stool and thought pleadingly, _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin_.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that –"

_Not Slytherin, not slytherin, please not slytherin, _She thought as hard as it could, and she could almost hear it sigh. Finally, it shouted, "_**GRYFFINDOR**_"!

Charlie heard the word boom into the whole hall. She took off the hat, almost laughing at her good luck, and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. She was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, she hardly noticed that she was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and kissed her hand at least a dozen times, much to her slight disgust, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Charlie sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff she'd seen earlier. The ghost patted her arm, giving Charlie the sudden, horrible feeling she'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

She could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest her sat Hagrid, who caught her eye and gave her the thumbs up sign. Charlie grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Charlie recognized him at once from the card she'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts.

She spotted Professor Quirell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Charlie at the Gryffindor table and gave her a wink. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Charlie crossed her fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Charlie clapped louder then the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to her and offered her a small, relieved smile.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Charlie as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Charlie looked down at her empty gold plate. She'd only just realized how hungry she was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if expecting a huge hug. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Charlie didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he - a bit mad?" she asked Percy uncertainly.

Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Charlie?"

Her mouth fell open. The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs that made her suddenly starving.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Charlie, but she'd never been allowed to eat as much as she liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Charlie really wanted, even if it made him sick.

Charlie piled her plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat like a total lunatic, but nobody seemed to mind, seeing as they were wolfing down as much as they could. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Charlie cut up her large, juicy steak, and she smiled at him uncertainly.

"Can't you -?"

I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it.

I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you - you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy -" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?" He asked bluntly. Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like this," he said irritably.

He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge, and Charlie tried to swallow down her steak without barfing. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So - new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row!

The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable - he's the Slytherin ghost."

Charlie peeked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Charlie was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

Snape snorted.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding - "

As Charlie helped herself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

They all laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all- Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned , but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced - all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here - they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

On Charlie's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing - ").

Charlie, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy from all the delicious food and blazing candlesticks, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

I t happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Charlie's eyes - and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on her forehead. "Gah!" She yelped quietly, and clutched her scar.

"What is it?" asked Percy, a little too worried for Charlie's comfort.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Charlie had gotten from the teacher's look - a feeling that he didn't like Charlie at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked Percy, who looked please to see she was talking to him for some weird reason.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape.

He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to - everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Charlie watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at her again. At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins, and Charlie gave them a grin, which they returned with sparkling, mischievous eyes.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Charlie laughed, but she was one out of a few that did.

"He's not serious?" she muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald, Or young with scabby knees, Our heads could do with filling, With some interesting stuff, For now they're bare and full of air, dead flies and bits of fluff, so teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest, and learn until our brains all rot.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.

Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.

They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves - show yourself"

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head.

They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said. "Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it - Neville needed a leg up - and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cosy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. Charlie said goodbye to Ron, told him they'd meet in the Great Hall tomorrow with a hug, and walked away to the Girls Dormitory. At the top of a spiral staircase - they were obviously in one of the towers - they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains.

Charlie wanted to stay up and talk with the girls, but they all seemed to be a giggling bunch, people Charlie never found very interesting, and Hermione's nose was stuck in a book as she snuggled into her bed.

Perhaps Charlie had eaten a bit too much, because she had a very strange dream. She was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to her, telling her she must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was her destiny.

Charlie told the turban she didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; she tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully - and there was Malfoy laughing at her as she struggled with it, then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold - there was a burst of green light and Charlie woke, sweating and shaking.

She rolled over and fell asleep again, and when she woke next day, she didn't remember the dream at all.

**Okay, guys, how was that? I'm too lazy to try and review this, so I don't really care if I make some mistake by calling Charlie "Harry" or "he". Anyways, I'm still wondering whether I should give Charlie a middle name, but I don't think I really will or want to. So,**

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz, **

**Lyricalyrics**


	7. The Potions Master

**Hey, guys! I've officially decided that Fred Weasley is going to be Charlie's boyfriend in the later books, and I'm still not sure whether I should let him live or not… anyways, PLEASE tell me what you think, and here's our next chapter!**

**. . .**

"There, look!"

"Where?"

"Next to the tall freckly kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the oversized glasses with the black hair?"

"Did you see her face?"

"Did you see her scar?"

Charlie pretended that she'd gone temporarily deaf as the comments blistered her ears, as she walked side-by-side with Ron as soon as she got dressed and left her first class, after missing breakfast. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her face, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring.

Charlie fervently wished they wouldn't, because she was trying to concentrate on finding her way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Charlie was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Charlie and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning.

Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor.

He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later.

Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Charlie quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, and was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Charlie's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Charlie had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Charlie nudged Ron and grinned- they probably wouldn't last the school year if that was their only warning.

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.

After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke.

His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story (Charlie and Ron sure didn't, anyways).

For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Charlie was very relieved to find out that she wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like her, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Charlie and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once, a rare quest that could be only done once.

"What have we got today?" Charlie asked Ron as she poured sugar on her porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them - we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favoured us." said Charlie, gloomily.

Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Charlie had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping lettersand packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Charlie anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble her ear affectionately, like a kind mother, and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Charlie's plate.

Charlie tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_**Dear Charlie,**_

_**I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?**_

_**I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.**_

_**Hagrid**_

Charlie borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled_**, Yes, please, see you later**_ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Charlie had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to her so far, and that was saying a lot.

At the start-of-term banquet, Charlie had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked her. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she'd been wrong _again._

Snape didn't dislike Charlie - he _loathed _her and looked as though he'd be happy if he could curse her to oblivion.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Charlie's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Miss Charlie Potter. Our new - celebrity."

It sounded like he wanted to say a lot more than celebrity.

Draco Malfoy, his pug-like girlfriend, and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. Instead, they were like dark, deep holes- like a black abyss, like a black coal.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Charlie and Ron silently sniggered and shushed each other as Snape shot them a glare of pure hatred.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Charlie stared blankly at him, but for some odd reason he shuddered as their eyes met.

"Erm… I'm afraid I don't know," She said, and he sneered.

"Tut, tut- clearly fame isn't everything," He said, earning gales of laughter from the Slyther-brats, as Charlie nicknamed them. She glowered at him with angry, narrowed eyes.

He ignored Hermione's frantically waving hand and stared at her once more.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Charlie didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. She tried not to look at Malfoy, the future Mrs. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming eh, Potter?"

Charlie glared at him and forced herself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. She had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect her to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi? _No, _a voice whispered bitterly in the back of her head. _He's just doing it to humiliate you_.

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Charlie quietly, with a surprising, small smile. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Charlie caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not amused.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information_, Miss Potter_, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Miss Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued.

Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like.

He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes.

Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, and Charlie tried hard to resist the urge to throw her cauldron over his head.

He cleaned the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Charlie and Ron, who were slowly glowering at his back while Charlie looked over, concerned, at Neville, who had been working next to them

"You – Potter - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills?" He demanded furiously, and Charlie's hands clenched at her sides.

"Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

It was so unfair she let out a small, angry growl, ignoring the kick Ron gave her under the table.

Snape sneered humorously at her.

"Want to make it another point?" He asked dangerously, and she mumbled with cheeks almost as red as Ron's hair, "No… _sir." _

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Charlie's mind was racing and her spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week- why did Snape hate her so much?

"Cheer up, Char," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Charlie tentatively knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang - back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Charlie told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles.

"I spend half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Charlie and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first -lessons. Fang rested his head on Charlie's knee and drooled all over her robes.

Charlie and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her - Fitch puts her up to it."

Charlie told Hagrid- with angry tears threatening to spill down her cheeks- about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Charlie not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

_Then what was your point of being one?_ Charlie said in her own head.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he? You're an amazing lass- and Snape's a fair sort, I'm sure he's being rough on you because he wants you to learn,"

Yet Charlie couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet her eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron, and Charlie blushed that she had a name so much like a boy's. _What was Mum thinking? _She asked to herself mentally, and groaned. "I liked him a lot - great with animals."

Charlie wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose, but nevertheless she thanked him mentally, hoping he knew ESP. While Ron told Hagrid all about his brother's work with dragons, Charlie picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cosy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

_**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**_

_**Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.**_

_**"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokes goblin this afternoon.**_

Charlie remembered Ron telling her on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

Where was it now?

And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

**Okay, guys, unfortunately that was it! The next chapter'll be up tomorrow, and I'll be checking my reviews to see what you think about Fred and Charlie, because personally I think they're a great couple. The mischievous, funny red head… the fiery, courageous black-haired heroine… sounds cool, doesn't it?  
Hugs, love, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics **

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid.

Had Hagrid collected that package just in time?


	8. The Midnight Duel

**OMFG, GUYS! I've previewed the last chapter, and not only have I called Charlie "he" and "Harry" twice, I've added the last chapter underneath my signature! GAH! Ugh, sorry about that- I'll review twice on this chapter. Anyways, I'm **_**SUPER **_**happy that you guys think that Charlie Potter is cool, and I'm giving a shoutout to AlaskaChicStorywriter for giving me the idea of making Charlie's middle name Lily, and for her continued support! Anyways, I hope you like this chapter, and **_**PLEASE **_**alert me if I make any spelling mistakes. Fred's not going to start to fall for Charlie until about the third book, so I'm going to make her date Seamus, possibly, for the next fanfiction. Anyways, here's your chapter- enjoy!  
. . .**

Charlie had never believed she would meet a boy she hated more than Dudley, but that was before she met Draco Malfoy.

Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much, a thing Charlie was very thankful for. In fact, Ron was trying hard to convince her to show Malfoy what Gryffindors can do (basically, trying to get her to throw a huge prank that might get them expelled), and Charlie wasn't so sorry to say he was succeeding.

Or, at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan.

Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday - and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Charlie darkly. She and Ron were looking forward to Quidditch practice eagerly, but she knew in her gut that Malfoy (or his pug girlfriend, whom Ron called 'Pantsy-Pansy Parkinson, because of her record to snog a guy she barely knew in less than an hour) would do something totally horrible to an unsuspecting Gryffindor.

"Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably, which didn't really make her feel better. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters.

He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick, although Ron had slyly told Charlie that he was trying to show off to her, a thing she protested furiously, although he was casting oh-so-subtle glances at her at the corners of his eyes, but she barely even noticed, much to his disappointment.

Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Bill's old broom. Charlie suspected they were all trying to catch a Gryffindor girl, not that they were succeeding, anyways.

Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Charlie had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move, and she immediately whacked him on the arm- hard.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Charlie felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book - not that she hadn't tried, and even though Charlie was as nervous as they both were, she- unlike them- was extremely excited and was practically exploding with nerves.

At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid- not that Charlie and Ron were surprised- with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages.

Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Charlie hadn't had quilled or gotten a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table while Charlie glared furiously at him.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red - oh..." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "You've forgotten something..."

Charlie secretly wondered why they'd make such a thing if they didn't make you remember what you forgotten, but as Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Charlie and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

"I doubt it," Charlie murmured to Ron, who nodded as he glared with furious eyes at Malfoy's back.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Charlie had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Charlie glanced down at her broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!"'

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Charlie's broom jumped into her hand at once, much to her pleased surprise, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Charlie with a bitter grin; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Charlie and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"More like eons," Charlie rolled her eyes, and Ron and the several other Gryffindors who were in earshot snickered and gave her grins, which she happily gave back.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three - two -"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. Charlie had gasped in fright, and tried to reach out to his hand to pull him back, but it was no good.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle - twelve feet - twenty feet. Charlie saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and - WHAM - a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Charlie heard her mutter, and she wanted to run to check his injuries, but Ron held her back by the arm. "Don't bother, Charlie- I heard that last year, there was a girl who'd broken nearly every bone in her body- it's not that bad," He said reassuringly, and she glared at him.

"I'm guessing you heard that from Fred and George, right?" She asked, and Ron smiled cheerfully. "Right!" He started to say happily, and then stopped as a frown took his oblivious smile away. "Right." He said in a much lower, growling tone.

"Come on, boy - it's all right, up you get." Madame Hooch continued.

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Charlie barely managed to restrain herself as she shouted, "Shut up, Malfoy- you're probably worse than him!"

Draco raised one eyebrow at that, and smiled sneakily at her.

"Is that a challenge, Potter?" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him. Why don't we see who's the better flyer, Potter? I ride on my broomstick and you try to catch me." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up, smirking at her.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Charlie quietly, raw anger evident in her voice. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how about - up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Charlie yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Charlie grabbed her broom, and everyone gasped in unison as she sat down on it and rose up to the air in one tiny movement.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll get us all into trouble."

Charlie ignored her. Blood was pounding in her ears. She glided farther upwards and up, up she soared; air rushed through her hair, making it whip wildly across her pink, wind-whipped face. Her robes whipped out behind her -and in a rush of fierce joy she realized she'd found something she could do without being taught - this was easy, this was wonderful.

She pulled her broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

She turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned, and even a bit impressed.

"Give it here," Charlie called, her voice strong but slightly wavering, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Charlie knew, somehow, what to do. She leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands effortlessly, like it was second nature even though she'd never been on a broomstick until now, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Charlie made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady, her expression determined and wind-whipped, with pink cheeks and bright eyes, furious with anger but glittering with excitement.

"Brilliant!" Ron yelled.

A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Charlie called, laughing and grinning against the wind that made her eyes water slightly.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Charlie saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall.

She leaned forward and pointed her broom handle down - next second she was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball - wind whistled in her ears, mingled with the screams of people watching - she stretched out her pale hand - a foot from the ground she caught it, just in time to pull her broom straight, and she toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in her fist.

"Yeah!" She whooped, and everyone cheered as they began to pick her up on their shoulders and cheer, "_Charlie- Charlie- Potter- Potter-" _like a mantra.

"CHARLIE LILY POTTER!"

They instantly put her down, and they all whipped around to see Professor McGonogall speed-walking towards them with an outrageous expression. "I have a middle name?" She asked out loud, but Professor McGonogall didn't seem to here.

"Never - in all my time at Hogwarts -" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "- how dare you - might have broken your neck -"

Charlie met her eyes with a calm, brave expression- she was sure she made the right option in saving the Remembrall, and she wasn't going to let some old teacher tell her that it was reckless.

"It wasn't her fault, Professor -"

"Be quiet, Mr. Weasley!"

"But Malfoy -"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Miss Potter, follow me, now."

She shared one last look with Ron, and tried to put on a brave smile that turned into a grimace, and he nervously grinned at her one last time before McGonogall half-dragged her away.

Charlie caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as she left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. She was going to be expelled, she just knew it. She wanted to say something to defend herself, but there seemed to be something wrong with her voice, and her throat felt like it was blistering from the wind blowing in her windpipe so quickly. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at her; she had to spring to keep up. Now she'd done it. She hadn't even lasted two weeks, just like she'd predicted with Ron. She'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. If there was a worst wizard competition, she'd probably win, she thought gloomily as McGonogall led her to a classroom and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thought Charlie, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on her?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Charlie.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the girl and boy.

"Miss Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood - I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The girl's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Miss Potter?"

Charlie nodded silently. She didn't have a clue what was going on, but she didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to her legs.

"She caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch herself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Charlie and staring at her. "Light - speedy - we'll have to get her a decent broom, Professor - a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say.

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Charlie.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Miss Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Charlie had just finished telling Ron what had happened when she'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never - you must be the youngest house player in about a century!"

Charlie smiled as she stuffed herself with chicken breast- she felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Charlie.

"I start training next week," said Charlie, with a small smile. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Charlie, and hurried over. She didn't know why, but her stomach did a backflip as she saw Fred Weasley. It was like he suddenly had the power to make her heart pound.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us.

We're on the team too - Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie- our brother- left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Charlie, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

Charlie glowered at him.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," she said coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact."

He smirked at her befuddled expression.

"What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course she has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm her second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Charlie looked at each other. "What is a wizard's duel?" said Charlie. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Charlie's face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens? You _know _I'm new to this magic business."

"So am I," Ron said as he stuffed his face with pie, "But you can just punch him on the nose," Ron suggested, and Charlie laughed so hard she almost choked, which made Ron start laughing too.

"Excuse me."

They both looked up and stopped laughing immediately. It was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Charlie with a _I-thought-you-were-better_ look on her face.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying -"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"-and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

Charlie glared at her.

"And it's really none of your business," she said sharply.

"Good-bye," said Ron.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Charlie thought, as she lay awake much later listening to Hermione and Lavender Brown falling asleep with soft snores.

Ron had spent all evening giving her advice in the common room, such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."

There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Charlie felt she was pushing her luck- which was already horrid, mind you-, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness - this was her big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. She couldn't miss it.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered to her- and waking her up from a splendid nap where Draco was prancing around in a leotard- when he sneaked into the girls dormitories. "We'd better go."

Charlie pulled on her bathrobes, picked up her wand (Ron already had his wand gripped tightly in his hand), and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Charlie."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy - he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Charlie couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.

"Come on," she said to Ron. She pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily.

She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Go away."

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so -"

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night time visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are not."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

"You've got some nerve -" said Ron loudly.

"Shut up, both of you!" said Charlie sharply. "I heard something."

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville.

"What's he doing there?" Draco asked.

He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" Charlie asked with a kind smile.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later -"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you."

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Charlie hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Charlie expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet.

The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Charlie took out her wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once.

The minutes crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

"What a shock." Ron said, glaring at Draco.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak -and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris.

Horror-struck, Charlie waved madly at the other three to follow her as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Charlie mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Charlie shrieked, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following - they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Charlie in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going - they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Charlie panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping her forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I - told -you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I - told - you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Charlie with an _I-told-you-so _tone in her voice that made Charlie want to scream. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you - Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

"I'm not stupid, Hermione, of course I know," Charlie said tiredly and rubbed her eyes with small white fists.

"Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves - please - you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves.

This was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR"

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door - and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!"

"Shut up, you nitwit!" Charlie and Hermione both snapped at him, and he immediately obeyed, quailing under the looks the young females were giving him.

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Charlie's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, 'Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open - they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please."'

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right -please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!"

And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Charlie whispered to the group. "I think we'll be okay - get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Charlie's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"

Charlie turned around - and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, she was sure she'd walked into a nightmare - this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as she had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor.

And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Charlie knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Charlie groped for the doorknob - between Filch and death, she'd take Filch, no matter how much she'd want to strangle him.

They fell backward - Charlie slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared - all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that - pig snout, pig snout," panted Charlie, her face so white it was bluish in the dark, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally.

"If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Charlie suggested with a dry humor. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor.

It's obviously guarding something."

She stood up, glaring at them, and shooting a betrayed look at Charlie, like, _We're-girls-I-thought-you-were-better-then-these-n itwits._

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed - or worse, expelled.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"

But Hermione had given Charlie something else to think about as she climbed back into bed and listened with amusement to her angry, fake-snores. The dog was guarding something... What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide - except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Charlie had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.

**Hey, guys! I'm too lazy tonight to review this chapter, but after waiting excruciatingly curious days for this, I hope you like it! And I want to know whether I should kill Fred or not, in the end (he's going to be Charlie's boyfriend, and I honestly have no idea whether I should leave him for the Death Eaters or not- I don't want to, seeing as he's my favorite character and I actually cried when he died, but I still think that maybe he or George should die). **

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	9. Halloween

**Hey, guys! I'm sorry for not posting in such a long time, but I was crazy-busy with this history project for school, so I hope you understand. Anyways, thanks for all the comments and reviews, and I just want to say you guys are the sole reasons I make these fanfictions. Also… because I just really like making fanfictions. Anyways, here's the next chapter! **

**. . .**

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Charlie and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful.

Indeed, by the next morning Charlie and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one.

In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection. "It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Charlie, with a curious and slightly excited tone.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Charlie and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus.

All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Charlie was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of her, knocking her toast right to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Charlie ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

**DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. **

**It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.**

**Professor McGonagall **

Charlie peeked at the head table, and with flushing cheeks, mouthed a _'Thank you so much' _to Professor McGonagall. She had difficulty hiding her glee as she handed the note to Ron to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle.

Malfoy seized the package from Charlie, who gave out a cry of protest, and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Charlie with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Charlie, who gave him a grateful smile. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Charlie and Ron could lunge themselves at Malfoy at start beating him up to a bloody pulp, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, children?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Miss Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Charlie with a glint in her eyes, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," she added.

Charlie and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion. "Well, it's true," Charlie laughed as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team..."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Charlie's pale, white hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Charlie, silently adding _I wish you'd keep on continuing to do so _in her mind.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

Charlie couldn't help but roll her eyes and smile at that- it was like he read her mind. _Oh, nutters, _she thought with a dawning horror. _Can wizards do that? _

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Charlie had a lot of trouble keeping her mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where her new broomstick was lying under her bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where she'd be learning to play that night.

She bolted her dinner that evening without noticing what she was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Charlie's bedspread. Since all the girls were in the Common Room or at dinner, Charlie snuck Ron into the Girls Dormitory with a sneaking worry that he'd start poking around in the girls' undies drawers or something, but all he seemed to care about was the broom, and with good reason.

Even Charlie, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top_. _

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Charlie left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. She'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Charlie of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Charlie mounted her broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling - she swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever she wanted at her lightest touch, and only now did she realize she was _actually _flying on a broomstick- it sounded like one of her fairytale stories.

"Hey, Potter, come down!'

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm.

Charlie landed next to him with windswept hair and pink cheeks, looking flustered but extremely excited.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Charlie repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Charlie recited. "So - that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously. "Never mind," said Charlie quickly, as an horrifying image of Oliver in a headband and a jersey flew into her mind.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper -I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Charlie, who was determined to remember it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Charlie a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Charlie two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Charlie noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Charlie, who instantly obliged. The Bludgers looked… dangerous.

He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Charlie's face. She swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking her nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air, and it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team - the Weasley twins are ours, and it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So - think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Charlie reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Er - have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Charlie asked, hoping she sounded offhand and failing miserably.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers -unless they crack my head open.

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers – I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Charlie smiled a tiny bit as an image of Fred popped into her mind, and her cheeks flushed as she realized Wood was staring at her with knowing eyes.

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings, and in Charlie's opinion, it looked like the golden ball in the Frog Prince- one of her favorite stories- except it had silvery, feathery wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages -I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. Well, that's it – any questions?"

Charlie shook her head. She understood what she had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Charlie were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Charlie to catch. She didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted.

After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because she was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all her homework, but Charlie could hardly believe it when she realized that she'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had.

Her lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom.

Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Charlie's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch her eye). He was pretty cute, too, but Charlie- with flushed cheeks- tried to get the thought out of her mind.

Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger.

It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Charlie's broomstick had arrived, which made Charlie slightly pleased that she didn't have to listen to Granger's extreme bossiness, but she still thought that when she walked into the Girls Dormitory, she thought she saw Hermione crying softly on her bed, but of course she denied it when Charlie gently asked her if she was okay.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too - never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult.

Charlie and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it - Charlie had to put it out with her hat.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Charlie heard Hermione snap, and sighed. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long." "You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Charlie as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Charlie as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Charlie caught a glimpse of her face - and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you, you nitwit!" Charlie snapped angrily and crossed her arms against her chest, refusing to meet Ron's eyes.

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon, and Charlie checked everywhere in the Girls' Dormitory. She wasn't there.

On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Charlie and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone.

Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Charlie was just helping herself to a baked potato, her mind still drifting off to Hermione's tear-trailed face, when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Charlie asked as they climbed the stairs, trying to sound like she was still cross with him, but couldn't help the excitement crawling into her voice. A real troll was downstairs at the very moment- it sounded exactly like one of her bedtime stories she used to read in the dark, after sneaking it from Dudley's room.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions.

As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Charlie suddenly grabbed Ron's arm, looking scared and worried.

"I've just thought - Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Charlie behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape.

He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Charlie whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Charlie said, but Ron held up his hand and gagged, like he'd just swallowed moldy cheese.

"Can you smell something?"

Charlie sniffed and a foul stench reached her nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it - a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed - at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The keys in the lock," Charlie muttered to Ron, who looked horribly frightened. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously, sounding like he didn't think it was a good idea at all.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one great leap, Charlie managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock it.

"Yes!"

Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts stop - a high, petrified scream - and it was coming from the chamber they'd just chained up.

"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

"It's in the girls' bathroom!" Charlie gasped.

"Hermione!" they said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have?

Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Charlie pulled the door open and they ran inside. Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

"Confuse it!" Charlie said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, she threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Charlie. It hesitated, then made for her instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Charlie time to sprint around it.

"Come on, run, Hermione!" Charlie yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

"Please, Hermione! GO!"

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

"NO!" Charlie screamed, then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: She took a great running jump and managed to fasten her thin arms around the troll's fat neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Charlie hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Charlie's wand had still been in her hand when she'd jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Charlie clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip her off or catch her with a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand - not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over - and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Charlie got to her feet unsteadily. She was shaking and out of breath, and she was so pale no ghost could compare. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Is it - dead?"

"I don't think so," Charlie answered, looking disgusted as she stared at her wand, which was lodged in the troll's left nostril, "I think it's just been knocked out."

She bent down and pulled her wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

"Urgh - troll bogies."

She wiped it on the troll's trousers, and shared a disgusted look with Ron and Hermione.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Charlie. Charlie had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Charlie's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Charlie looked nervously at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Charlie a swift, piercing look.

Charlie looked at the floor. She wished Ron would put his wand down. Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall - they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I - I thought I could deal with it on my own - you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Charlie stuck her wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Charlie and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well - in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Charlie was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Charlie and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Charlie reminded him with a glare. "Plus, she wouldn't have even _been _in the bathroom if it wasn't for your little comment."

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend.

There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

**Hey, guys! I **_**know **_**I've made some spelling mistakes, but otherwise I thought this chapter was pretty neat. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and I'll be posting a new chapter tomorrow! **

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	10. Quidditch

**Ack, guys! I'm **_**so **_**sorry for not posting in, like, a hundred eons, but I've been super busy with schoolwork and stuff. I'll make sure to make this an extra-awesome chapter, okay? **

**. . . **

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains behind the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows, defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun.

On Saturday, Charlie would be playing in her first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move into second place in the House Championship. Hardly anyone had seen Charlie play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Charlie should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, (Ron was her immediate suspicion) and Charlie didn't know which was worse—people telling her she'd be brilliant or people telling her they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Charlie now had Hermione as a friend. She didn't know she'd have gotten through all her homework without her, what with all the last minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do.

But, even though she was growing more and more nervous at her first game, the subject of her first Quidditch match couldn't be avoided, and Charlie welcomed any help she was offered.

Hermione had lent her "_Quidditch Through the Ages_", which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Charlie learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules, since Charlie and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it.

The day before Charlie's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar.

They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Charlie noticed at once that Snape was limping. Charlie, Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed.

Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye.

He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Miss Potter?"

It was "_Quidditch Through the Ages"._ Charlie showed him, glowering a bit as she did.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He's just made that rule up," Charlie muttered lividly as Snape limped away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Charlie, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Charlie and Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway.

Charlie felt restless and even a little angry. She wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back to take her mind of her nerves about tomorrow. Why should she be afraid of Snape?

Getting up from where she was slouching down on a fluffy armchair, she told Ron and Hermione she was going to ask Snape if she could have it back.

"Better you than me," they said together, but Charlie had an inkling that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.

She made her way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. She pushed the door ajar and peered inside—and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. Charlie gagged quietly, and her eyes suddenly spotted the redness of his (shudder, shudder) white leg.

One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Charlie tried to shut the door quietly, but —

"POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Charlie gulped nervously, but met his gaze with a defiant lift of her chin.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT!"

"Fine, Professor Snape- I know your leg might be quite ugly and mangled, but you're still pretty to me," She said sarcastically, and then darted away before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. She sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Charlie joined them. Her face was extremely white. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Charlie told them what she'd seen.

"You know what this means?" she finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him—he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide. "No — he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron, and Charlie secretly agreed, even though she wasn't as blunt as Ron to confess it out loud.

"I'm with Charlie. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

Charlie went to bed with her head buzzing with the same question. Lavender was snoring loudly, but Charlie couldn't sleep. She tried to empty her mind — she needed to sleep, she had to, she had her first Quidditch match in a few hours – but the expression on Snape's face when Charlie had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget, and it wasn't because it was so scrunched-up and red and ugly.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

"Mate, if you're trying to starve yourself like Lavender, let me tell you that being a skeleton with flesh isn't all that attractive." Ron jerked his head over to Lavender, who was chewing her food in bite-sized pieces with a scrunched look on her face.

Charlie bit of the edge of a piece of toast.

She felt like a horrid mess. In an hour's time she'd be walking onto the field.

"Charlie, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Charlie, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages with a grateful smile.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Charlie, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined.

It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors. Charlie felt so grateful, tears blurred in her eyes. She blinked them away and tried to do deep breaths. Now wasn't the time to get emotional.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Charlie and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence. "Okay, men," he said.

"And women," chorused Chaser Angelina Johnson and Charlie at the same time, and they gave each other sheepish grins.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley, and for the billionth time Charlie's heart did a backflip when he spoke.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George. Charlie wondered why she wasn't freaking out when she saw him, like Fred- they were completely identical; if she thought Fred was attractive, wasn't George, too? But he was more of a big brotherly attractive than a potential future husband attractive.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Charlie with an easy smile on his face that left her heart racing, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Charlie followed Fred (cue frantic, annoying heartbeat) and George out of the locker room and, hoping her knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Charlie snorted under her breath and mumbled, "Like that'll happen." Fred sent her a grin, and she blushed.

Charlie noticed that Madame Hooch seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Charlie thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. Her heart skipped. She felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Charlie mounted onto her Nimbus Two Thousand with a carefree swoop, like she rode on flying broomsticks every day- which she did, for the last few weeks at the very least. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. Charlie took a liking to him instantly- the jokey comments made her feel a tad more courageous, and with the _Potter for President _banner fluttering in the cold, cheek-whipping wind, she felt optimism flood into her veins. Maybe, just maybe, the Gryffindors would win this thing.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he's going to sc— no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger —

Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she's really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Charlie hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck clad with wind-whipping long black hair that was Charlie.

Way up above them, Charlie was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of her and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina scored, Charlie had done a couple of loop-the loops to let off her exhilarated feelings.

Now she was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once she caught a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches.

And once a Bludger decided to come pelting her way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Charlie dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it, which didn't help Charlie's already-pounding heart as she stared after the shock of brilliant red hair.

"All right there, Charlie?" He had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasley's, and Chaser Bell, and speeds towards the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Charlie saw it. In a great rush of excitement she dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch - all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Charlie was _way _faster than Higgs—she could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead—she put on an extra spurt of speed—

WHAM!

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!" If Charlie peered hard at the figure, she could see he was kind of cute. _Stupid hormonal tween thoughts, _she thought angrily to herself.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side. "They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Charlie outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul…"

"Jordan, I'm warning you—"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the _quite _cute Gryffindor Seeker- sorry, Professor, but it's my job to enforce the truth-, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Charlie dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past her head, that it happened. Her broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch.

For a terrifying split second, she thought she was going to fall. She gripped the broom tightly with both her hands and knees. She'd never felt anything like that, and terror flooded into her bones as she glanced uneasily at the ground beneath her.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck her off, and she let out a small, mental scream.

Charlie tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goalposts - she had half a mind to ask Wood to call a time out and she realized that her broom was completely out of her control. She couldn't turn it. She couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated her.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose — only joking, Professor — Slytherins score — Ah no…"

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Charlie's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying her slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Charlie thinks she's doing," Hagrid mumbled.

He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say she'd lost control of her broom… but she can't have…"

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Charlie all over the stands. Herbroom had started to roll over and over, with her only just managing to hold on, and she couldn't help the small, horrified scream coming out of her mouth. Then the whole crowd gasped. Charlie's broom had given a wild jerk and Charlie swung off it. She was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand, and she willed all the power inside of her not to scream and thrash wildly around like shewanted in vain to do.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked her?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Charlie, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape — look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Charlie, and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something — jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Charlie, his face uncharacteristically worried as he stared after his best friend. Charlie's broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for her to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Charlie safely onto one of their brooms, and in a hysterical second she had a mental image of Fred sweeping her to safety, and her clutching herself tight against him, and they would ride off into the sunset.

Mental facepalm.

Even though they tried their hardest to get her to the safety of their own broomsticks, it was no good- every time they got near her dangling figure, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath her, obviously hoping to catch her if she fell.

Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind her; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front.

Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire.

A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row — Snape would never know what had happened. Charlie looked down and peered at the figure barely visible behind the stands- and almost fell off her broom, she was shaking with laughter so hard. Snape's robes were entirely on flames, and he was freaking out.

It was enough, though, for Charlie to clamber back onto her broomstick.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Charlie was racing toward the ground when the crowd saw her clap her hand to her mouth as though she was about to be sick— she hit the field on all fours — coughed — and something gold fell into her hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" she shouted triumphantly, waving it above her head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"She didn't catch it, she nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference — Charlie hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results —Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

Charlie heard none of this, though- not that she'd care even if she had.

She was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hermione.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"And it wasn't because of my distractingly good looks?" Charlie asked sarcastically, and Hermione rolled her eyes at her.

"Very funny, Char." She glowered, and Charlie just smiled at her fretting friend_. It was all right_, she told Hermione mentally_. I got the snitch, I'm not scarred for life, you don't have to worry about me. _

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Charlie, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Charlie decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," she told Hagrid, her black hair still sticking to her forehead as she brushed it away to reveal her large, glistening green orbs of eyes. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy?"_

"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —"

"Yes?" said Charlie eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Charlie?" cried Hermione. The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly.

"I don' know why Charlie's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh — yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel —"

"Aha!" said Charlie, pointing a triumphant yet accusing finger at Hagrid, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

**So, there's the chapter! Once again, DO NOT TELL ME WHETHER I MADE SPELLING MISTAKES ON "HE" OR "HARRY", SINCE I DON'T REALLY CARE ANYMORE.**

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	11. The Mirror of Erised

**Hey, guys- I'm SO FREAKING SORRY for not posting in such a long time, I have a major project for school that I had to work on, so I hope you'll forgive me! Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

**. . .**

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.

The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again. No one could wait for the holidays to start.

While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become freezing and an icy wind tapped the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

He was looking over at Charlie as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Charlie, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them, even though her blood was slowly boiling inside her veins, like liquid fire. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Charlie as Seeker next.

Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Charlie had managed to stay on her rattling broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Charlie about her having no proper family.

It was true that Charlie wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Charlie had signed up at once without any hesitation. She didn't feel sorry for herself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas she'd ever had, but Malfoy was getting on her nerves.

Ron and his brothers were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charles **(A/N: I decided just to call Charlie by his true name, since it's going to be too confusing with Charlie Potter hanging around****).** When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes, and Charlie threw a disgusted look at Malfoy, who smirked at her.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Charlie mentally screamed inside her head- it was so unfair, he was so unfair.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him —"

"I hate them both," said Charlie, her tone livid, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid, trying to cheer them up. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Charlie ever saw.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me — Charlie, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Charlie told him brightly, brushing her messy black hair out of her eyes. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here — I've told yeh — drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione innocently.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Charlie added, her voice hopeful. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere — just give us a hint — I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin', said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book.

He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry.

And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows- it delighted Hermione, and Charlie even more, who'd never seen so many books in one place, but she'd preferred asking around rather than trying to find a name in some musty old book.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random.

Charlie wandered over to the Restricted Section. She had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and she knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, girl?"

"Nothing," said Charlie with a light smile, but Madame Pince, the librarian, still looked suspicious, and Charlie made a mental to never try to lie again- little did she know, she'd be doing it quite often in the upcoming days.

Madam Pince brandished a feather duster at her.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on — out!"

Still wishing she'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Charlie reluctantly left the library. She, Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.

Charlie waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but she wasn't very optimistic. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks, which Charlie doubted would happen anytime soon.

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined her, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Charlie were having too good a time to think much about Flamel.

They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork — bread, English muffins, marshmallows — and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Charlie wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family — in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Charlie played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent her, and they didn't trust her at all. She wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at her, which was really rather confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him."

On Christmas Eve, Charlie went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all.

When she woke early in the morning, however, the first thing she saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of her bed. She squealed and, bundling the presents in her arms, darted out of the Girls' Dormitory and sprinted into the Common Room, where Ron was rubbing his eyes and yawning as he sat on a chair near the fireplace.

"Happy Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Charlie leaned over to give him a hug.

"You, too," She said, looking excited. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Charlie's.

Charlie picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was _**To Charlie, from Hagrid**_. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Charlie blew it — it sounded a bit like an owl, and she mentally thanked Hagrid inside her head, planning to catch up to him and give a present of her own- if she could make one, that is.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_**We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.**_ Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece, and Charlie stared at it with disgust.

"That's friendly," said Charlie, feeling hot all over.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

"Weird!" he said, "What a shape! This is money?"

"You can keep it," said Charlie, grinning at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle — so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect any presents and — oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Charlie had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge. Her eyes blurred with tears at how much presents she was getting for a change, and she quickly wiped them away before Ron could see.

"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Charlie, trying a bit of the fudge, which was very tasty.

Her next present also contained candy — a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

This only left one parcel. Charlie picked it up and felt it. It was very light. She unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds.

Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is — they're really rare, and really valuable."

"What is it?"

Charlie picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is — try it on."

Charlie threw the cloak around her shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Charlie looked down at her feet, but they were gone. She snatched a piece of large glass from the ground (probably from a broken present of some kind) and stared at herself. Sure enough, her reflection looked back at her, just her head suspended in midair, her body completely invisible.

She pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely. "There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!" Charlie pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing she had never seen before were the following words_**: Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you. **_

There was no signature. Charlie stared at the note in shock. Ron was admiring the cloak. "I'd give anything for one of these," He said longingly. "Anything. What's the matter?" "Nothing," said Charlie quickly. She felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to her father? Before she could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Charlie stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. She didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!" "Hey, look - Charlie's got a Weasley sweater, too!" Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. "Charlie's is better than ours, though, " said Fred, holding up Charlie's sweater. Charlie blushed.

"She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm. " "I hate maroon, " Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head. Charlie suppressed a laugh.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid - we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"What's all the noise?!" Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized. "P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Charlie got one. ""I - don't - want said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater. Charlie had never in all her life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce - and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.

These fantastic partyfavors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toysand their flimsy paper hats inside. Charlie pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just told him. Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedding his slice.

Charlie watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Charlie's amazement (and utter disgust), giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided. When Charlie finally left the table, she was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Charlie had a bad feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Charlie and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Charlie broke in her new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. She suspected she wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help her so much. What was his problem, anyways? She suspected it wasn't because he was so eager to help her get better at Wizard Chess, either.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge. It had been Charlie's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of her mind all day. Not until she climbed into bed was she free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it. Hermione and the girls, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother them, fell asleep almost as soon as they'd drawn the curtains of their four-posters.

Charlie leaned over the side of her own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it. Her father's... This had been her father's. She let the material flow over her hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

She had to try it, _now. _She slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around herself, shivering in the coldness of the dormitory. Looking down at her legs, she saw only moonlight and shadows. It gave her a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Excitement flooded through her as she stood in the darkness and silence. She could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never even know. Suddenly, she thought of Ron, probably snoring his heart away in the Boys' Dormitory. Should she sneak over and wake him? Something held her back- her father's cloak- she felt that this time- the first time- she wanted to use it alone.

She crept out of the dormitory, rushed down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squeaked the Fat Lady.

Charlie said nothing. She sped-walk along the corridor.

Where should she go? She stopped, her heat racing, and thought for a moment. Then it hit her: The Restricted Section in the library. She'd be able to read as long as she'd like, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was.

She set off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tighter around her body as she walked.

The library was pitch black and rather eerie. Charlie lit a lamp to see her way around the rows of books. The lamp looked as though it was floating in mid-air, and even though Charlie could feel her hand clutching it, the sight sent shivers down her spine.

The Restricted Section was at the back of the library. Carefully, she stepped over the rope that separated those books from the rest of the library, she lifted the lamp slightly to see the spines of the books and their titles.

They didn't tell her much, though. Their peeling, faded gold letters were written in a language Charlie couldn't understand. Some of them didn't have any titles at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked terribly like blood.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but she swore she heard a whisper amongst the books, like they knew someone was there who shouldn't be. She had to start somewhere, though. Setting the lamp carefully down on the floor, she looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting enough book. A large black-and-silver volume caught her eye.

She pulled it out with difficulty, because it was so heavy, and balancing it on her knee, let it fall open. A piercing, high-pitched shriek broke the silence- the book was screaming! Charlie snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, getting higher with each passing second, on the same ear-ringing note.

She stumbled back and knocked over her lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, she heard footsteps coming from the corridor outside-stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, she made a run for it. She passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through her, and Charlie slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and darted off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in her ears. She came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. She had been so busy getting away from the library, she hadn't paid attention to where he was going.

Perhaps because it was dark, she didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, she knew, but she must've been five floors above there. "

You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section." Charlie felt the blood drain out of her face, and the air in her lungs being sucked out by an invisible force. Wherever she was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to her horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Charlie stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see her, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into her – the cloak didn't stop her from being solid. She backed away as quietly as she could.

A door stood ajar to her left. It was her only hope. She squeezed through it, holding her breath, trying not to move it, and to her relief she managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Charlie leaned against the wall, breathing shakily, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close.

It was a few seconds before she noticed anything about the room she had hidden in. It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket - but propped against the wall facing her was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _**Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.**_ Her panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Charlie scampered nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at herself but see no reflection again.

She stepped in front of it. She had to clap her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She whirled around, black hair flying. Her heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed - for she had seen not only herself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind her, smiling people with red faces.

But the room was empty. Breathing very shakily, she turned slowly back to the mirror. There she was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind her, were at least ten others. Charlie looked over her shoulder - but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was she in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not? She looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind her reflection was smiling at her and waving. She reached out a hand and felt the air behind her. If she was really there, she'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but she felt only air - she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes - _her eyes are just like mine_, Charlie thought with a jolt, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green - exactly the same shape, but then she noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time.

The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just like Charlie's did. Charlie was so close to the mirror now that her nose was nearly touching that of her reflection.

"Mom?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Dad?"They just looked at her, smiling. And slowly, Charlie looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like her's, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Charlie's knobbly knees - Charlie was looking at her family, for the first time in her sorry life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Charlie and she stared hungrily back at them, het hands pressed fla tagainst the glass as though she was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. She had a powerful kind of ache inside her, half joy, half terrible sadness. How long she stood there, she didn't know, she didn't care. The reflections did not fade and she looked and looked until a distant noise brought her back to her senses. She couldn't stay here, she had to find her way back to bed. She tore her eyes away from her mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

"You could have woken me up, " said Ron, crossly in the morning, over sausages and milk. "You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror."

"I'd like to see your mom and dad, " Ron said eagerly. Charlie smiled at him.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone else."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Charlie couldn't eat, though. She had seen her parents for the first time in her life and would be seeing them again tonight. She had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding?

What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."

What Charlie feared most was that she might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Charlie's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing, " said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back." "No!" Charlie hissed, nearly crying from frustration. "I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Charlie spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here - just here - yes!"

They pushed the door open. Charlie dropped the cloak from around her shoulders and ran to the mirror, pressing her palms against the glass. There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of her, and their invisible arms circled around her shoulders.

"See?" Charlie whispered to Ron, still staring at her parents' faces with hungry green eyes that glistened with tears in the dark. She was glad Ron couldn't see, though, as he busied himself peering into the mirror.

"I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all... There are loads of them..."

"I can only see you, Char."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Charlie reluctantly stepped aside, because with Ron in front of the mirror, she couldn't see her family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas. Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No - I'm alone - but I'm different - I look older - and I'm head boy!"

"What?""I am - I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to - and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup- I'm Quidditch captain, too, and-" Ron trailed off and glanced nervously with a look that Charlie couldn't place at her face.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead - let me have another look -"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time. ""You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents, I'll probably never see them again-"

"Don't push me-"A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron and Charlie stood quite still, both thinking the same thing - did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an eon, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe - she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on. "And Ron pulled Charlie out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

"Want to play chess, Charlie?" said Ron.

"No." Charlie said, resting her head in Ron's lap, still thinking about the mirror. Maybe she could sneak back tonight…

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?" "No... You go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Charlie, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it - and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, Char, don't go."

But Charlie only had one thought in her head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop her. That third night she found his way more quickly than before. She was walking so fast she knew she was making more noise than was wise, but she didn't meet anyone. And there were his mother and father smiling at her again, their invisible hands clasping her own, and one of her grandfathers nodding happily. Charlie sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop her from staying here all night with her family. Nothing at all. Except –

"So - back again, Charlie?" Charlie felt as though her insides had turned to ice. She looked behind her. Sitting on one of the desks was none other then Albus Dumbledore.

Charlie must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror she hadn't noticed him. "- I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Charlie was immensely relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So, " said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Charlie, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It - well - it shows me my family, and my mum and dad-"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."

"How did you know -?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. Charlie stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" Charlie shook her head slowly.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Charlie thought for a few silent moments. Then she said slowly, "It shows us what we want... Whatever we want... "

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away beforeit, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Charlie, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?" Charlie stood up and gave one last glance at the mirror, her hands still gripped by her parents' invisible ones.

"Sir - Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so, " Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks." Charlie stared at him with bewildered eyes.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when she was back in bed that it struck Charlie that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, she thought, as she shoved Scabbers off her pillow and not bothering to wonder how he even got into the Girls Dormitory, it had been quite a personal question.

**So, guys, I know you all must hate me so much, but I've been posting the book UTorrent, and suddenly it wouldn't let me paste. I've been busy with my other account, too- it's called Sarcastic Clapping, and I've been posting quite a few other stories on there, too. Anyways, I'm going to post either today or tomorrow, so be on your guard! And, personally, this is one of my favorite chapters, and I'm pretty curious which are yours. Anyways,**

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	12. Nicholas Flamel

**Hey, guys, and thanks for all the supportive reviews! It's my birthday today, so I'm sorry if this came in a little late. I just want to tell you guys that you're the best and that I love you all a lot. **

**I'm sorry if this is beginning to sound like a Hallmark card, but I'm pretty sentimental today. Anyways, enjoy the chapter! **

**. . . **

Dumbledore had convinced Charlie not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of her trunk. Charlie desperately wished she could forget what she'd seen in the mirror as easily, but she couldn't. She started having horrible nightmares- ones that left her waking up screaming.

Over and over again she dreamed about her parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad, " said Ron, when Charlie told him about these drearns. Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Charlie being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filchhad caught you!"), and disappointment that she hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was. They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Charlie was positive she'd read the name somewhere.

Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Charlie had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started again. Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Charlie was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the housechampionship for the first time in seven years.

Quite apart from wanting to win, Charlie found that she had fewer nightmares when she was tired out after training. Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms- which, in Charlie's opinion, was pretty funny. Wood seemed to have a different opinion.

"Will you stop messing around!?" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

"Snape's refereeing?" He spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

Which was all very well, thought Charlie, but she had another reason for not wanting Snape near her while she was playing Quidditch... The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Charlie headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where she found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Charlie and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment, " said Ron when Charlie sat down next to him, "I need to concen - - " He caught sight of Charlie's face. "What's the matter with you, Charlie? You look terrible." Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Charlie told the other two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Hermione at once, ignoring Charlie's look of protest.

"Say you're ill," said Ron. Charlie sighed and stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace. She was pleased that they were worried about her safety, but this was… too much to handle. She _needed _to do this, and she _needed _to win- she had to. She was determined not to fail, she was desperate not to make a fool out of herself. She needed to prove that she wasn't just a scarred (literally) girl, she was a brave flier. She couldn't quit now.

"Pretend to break your leg, " Hermione suggested. Charlie mentally groaned.

"Really break your leg, said Ron. Charlie restrained herself from poking his eye out with her wand.

"I can't," Charlie said, a gleam of determination in her eyes. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all- and I'm not backing out."

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower. Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the counter-curse. Neville'slegs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. "What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Charlie and Ron.

"Malfoy, " said Neville shakily, and Charlie's fists balled up so hard her knuckles were white. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled. "You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier "

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that, " Neville choked out. Charlie felt in the pocket of her robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given her for Christmas.

She gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry, and gently touched his arm.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy, " Charlie told him. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog. "Thanks, Charlie... I think I'll go to bed... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

As Neville walked away, Charlie glanced at the Famous Wizard card. "Dumbledore again, " she said, "He was the first one I ever - "

She broke off with a gasp and stared at the back of the card. Then she looked up at Ron and Hermione, her face breaking out in a smile.

"I've found him!" she whispered excitedly. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here - listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for theirvery first piece of homework. "Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Charlie and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms. "I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Ron, but

Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself. At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel, " she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

"The what?" asked Charlie and Ron in unison.

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look - read that, there."

She pushed the book toward them, and Charlie and Ron read: _**The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently inexistence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebratedhis six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (sixhundred and fifty-eight).**_

"See?" said Hermione, when Charlie and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" Charlie exclaimed, her eyes wide. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry, " said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Charlie and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Charlie remembered about Snape and the coming match, and her chest tightened with nerves.

"I'm going to play, "she told Ron and Hermione, her eyes gleaming. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them... It'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win!"

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione. As the match drew nearer, however, Charlie became more and more nervous, whatever she told Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee? Charlie didn't know whether she was imagining it or not, but she seemed to keep running into Snape wherever she went. At times, she even wondered whether Snape was following her, trying to catch her on her own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Charlie.

Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Charlie didn't see how he could, judging on how clueless and idiotic he was - yet she sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds. Charlie knew, when they wished her good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see her alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting.

Charlie hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as she pulled on her Quidditch robes and picked up her Nimbus Two Thousand. Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match.

Little did Charlie know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Charlie- and Ron was fairly sure he'd tear him up to pieces if he laid a hand on her.

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis, " Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

"I know, " Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Charlie aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish thegame before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. Charlie stared at him with large eyes, trying to wipe the goofy grin spreading across her face off. Another good reason why she couldn't quit- Fred would be counting on her, too, like the rest of the team. She _couldn't _fail now- she was going to win, she had too.

"Even - blimey -Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Charlie's heart did a somersault.

"Dumbledore?" she asked, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard. Charlie could have laughed out loud with relief- she was safe! There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt her if Dumbledore was watching. Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look -they're off- ouch!" Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy. "Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on her broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?" Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him.

Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Charlie, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch. "You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money - you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains." Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy, " he stammered, remembering Charlie's kind words to him the other day. He blushed as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something,"

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Charlie. "I'm warning you, Malfoy - one more word-"

Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Charlie -"

"What? Where?"

Charlie had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Charlie streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy. Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

"Come on, Charlie!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Charlie sped straight at Snape -she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle. Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches - the next second, Charlie had pulled out of the dive, her arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in her pale hand. The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Charlie's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front. Charlie jumped off her broom, a foot from the ground. She couldn't believe it- she'd done it - the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes.

As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped - then Charlie felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Charlie could hear. Charlie grinned at him.

"Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... Been keeping busy... Excellent..."

Snape spat bitterly on the ground. Charlie sneaked out of the locker room alone some time later, to take her Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. She couldn't ever remember feeling happier. She'd really done something to be proud of now -no one could say she was just a famous name any more- she was a true hero, the queen of Quidditch; Gryffindor's hero. She smiled so hard she thought her face might break.

The evening air had never smelled so sweet. Charlie walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in her head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift her onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed. Charlie had reached the shed. She leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with itswindows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. She'd done it, she'd shown Snape... And speaking of Snape... A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Charlie's victory faded from her mind as she watched.

She recognized the figure's prowling walk- Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner -what was going on? Charlie jumped back on her Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle she saw Snape enter the forest at a run. She followed on her broomstick. The trees were so thick she couldn't see where Snape had gone. She flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until she heard voices.

She glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree. She climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to her broomstick, peering through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Charlie couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Charlie strained to catch what they were saying. "... D-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus... "

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all. " Charlie leaned forward in anticipation. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I - -"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him. "I-I don't know what you-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly, and Charlie nearly fell out of the tree. She steadied herself in time to hear Snape say, "- your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't - - "

"Very well, " Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Charlie could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

"Charlie, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked later that day.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, hugging Charlie so tight she thought her ribs might've broken.

"And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomftey says he'll be all right - talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now, " said Charlie breathlessly, although her heart sped up at the mention of Fred. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this..."

She made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then she told them what she'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus - I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through - - "

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday, " said Ron.

**So, guys, I thought this was pretty good, although I'm positive there are a few "Harry's" and "He's" in there. But **_**don't **_**tell me- you can't criticize me, remember- I'm the birthday girl, right? But I sincerely hope you liked this chapter, and I think I'll post another chapter today. **

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	13. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

**Hey, guys! Sorry I took so long to upload- I was on my other account for a lot- I hope you'll understand. Anyways, here's the chapter- and please review, I don't care if it's a paragraph or just a letter, but I **_**have **_**to get a sign that yes, you are enjoying the fanfiction and I should continue. Anyways, hope you enjoy!  
. . .**

Quirell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet. Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Charlie, Ron, and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Charlie passed Quirrell these days he gave her an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter. Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Sorcerer's Stone. She had started drawing up study schedules and color-coding all her notes. Charlie and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away. "

"Ten weeks, " Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old, " Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it."

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me... "

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones- not that that was surprising, but still. It was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements.

Moaning and yawning, Charlie and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work. "I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming. Charlie, who was looking up "Dittany" in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, didn't look up until she heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?" Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. "Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?"

He looked suddenly suspicious.

"Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago, " said Ron impressively, and Charlie grinned at Hagrid's shocked face.

"And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St-"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact, " said Charlie, her eyes gleaming, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy -"

"SHHHH!" said Hagrid again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh-"

"See you later, then," said Charlie with a glum voice. Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully. "Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in, " said Ron, who'd had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table. "Dragons!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species ofGreat Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide. "

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him, " said Charlie with a fond smile. Ron looked surprised.

"But it's against our laws, " said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the backgarden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charles's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" asked Charlie curiously.

"Of course there are, " said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spottedthem, to make them forget.

""So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" said Hermione. When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called "Who is it?" before he let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind them. It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

"So - yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes, " answered Charlie quickly. There was no point beating around the bush. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid frowned at her. "O' course I can't," he said.

"Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, soI wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It Was almost stolen outta Gringotts - Is'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy. "

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here, " said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Charlie thought she was laying it a bit thick, even though it was pretty much true, but Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling.

"We only wondered who had done the guarding, really." Hermione went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Charlie and Ron beamed at Hermione.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that... Let's see... He borrowed Fluffy from me... Then some o'the teachers did enchantments... Professor Sprout - Professor Flitwick - Professor McGonagall -"

He ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell - an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"Snape?"

"Yeah - yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it." Charlie knew Ron and Hermione were thinking the same as she was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything - except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. Aren't you, Hagrid?" said Charlie anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore, " said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something, " Charlie muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm absolutely boiling."

"Can't, Charlie, sorry, " said Hagrid. Charlie noticed him glance at the fire. Charlie looked at it, too.

"Hagrid - what's that?"

But she already knew what it was the moment she saw it. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's er... "

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune. "

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin', said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library - Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit - it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here - how ter recognize diffrent eggs -what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house, " she said. But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire. So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

Wow. Charlie had been in a lot of weird plights- but none were as weird as the situation at the moment.

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life, " Ron sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had now started making study schedules for Charlie and Ron, too. It was driving them bonkers. Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Charlie another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: _**It's hatching**_. Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing-"

"Shut up!" Charlie whispered. Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? Charlie didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all- she usually didn't, but this one was particularly nasty. Eyes full of malice, a nasty scrunch in his nose that made him look as if he was sniffing Aunt Petunia's homemade casserole.

Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it. They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath. All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Charlie thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed.

A couple of sparks flew out of its snout. "Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid. Charlie almost choked on her own spit.

"Hagrid, " said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?" Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face - he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains - it's a kid - he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Charlie bolted to the door and poked her head out, her long black hair concealing her eyes as she peered at the figure. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him. Malfoy had seen the dragon. Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Charlie, Ron, and Hermione very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him. "Just let him go," Charlie urged. "Set him free."

"I can't, " said Hagrid, his voice anxious. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his game-keeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. Once again, Charlie resisted the urge to strangle him. The dragon was much more of a _Freaky-Fire-Sneezing-Thingie, _if you asked her. But even as she thought so, she couldn't help but like the little baby dragon. He wasn't cute in the least, but he seemed to take a liking to Charlie. Or, at least, he only tried to nip her fingers off _once_, unlike the others.

"He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in Charlie's ear.

"So we'll help him find them back," She mumbled back, and turned back to Hagrid.

"Hagrid," Charlie said loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip. "I - I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't." Charlie suddenly turned to Ron.

"Charles," She muttered.

"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"

"No - Charles - your brother, Charles. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charles can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charles to ask him. The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Charlie sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Charlie's invisibility cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" said Charlie, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charles's answer!" The three of them put their heads together to read the note. _**Dear Ron, How are you? Thanks for the letter - I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon. Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark. Send me an answer as soon as possible. **_

_**Love, Charles**_

They looked at one another. "We've got the invisibility cloak," said Charlie, feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks. "It shouldn't be too difficult - I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two agreed with her. Anything to get rid of Norbert - and Malfoy. There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey - would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were poisonous, and all of Charlie's slight liking towards Norbert disappeared when she and Hermione rushed into the hospital wing by the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state as he lay in bed.

"It's not just my hand, " He whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me- I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think she believes me –I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Charlie and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione reassuringly, but this didn't soothe Ron at all. On th econtrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no oh no - I've just remembered - Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

Charlie and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Charlie told Hermione. "We haven't got time to send Charles another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we've got the invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

They found Fang, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

"I won't let you in, " he puffed. "Norbert's at a tricky stage - nothin' I can't handle."

When they told him about Charles's letter, his eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot - jus' playin' - he's only a baby, after all."

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Charlie and Hermione walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough. They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall. Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed histeddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Charlie as though the teddy was having his head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Charlie and Hermione covered the crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. "Mommy will never forget you!"

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. UP another staircase, then another - even one of Charlie's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier. '

"Nearly there!" She panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower. Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by the ear.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you - - "

"You don't understand, Professor. Charlie Potter's coming - she's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on - I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Hermione did a sort of jig.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," Charlie advised her, grinning nonetheless. Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness. Charles's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Charlie and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Charlie and Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much. At last, Norbert was going... Going... Gone.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon - Malfoy in detention - what could spoil their happiness? The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the darkness. "Well, well, well," he whispered, "We are in trouble." They'd left the invisibility cloak on top of the tower.

**Hey, guys! I've been getting a lot of complaints on the originality of this, but I need to tell you: **_**CHARLIE'S JUST A KID. **_**She's exactly like Harry- except she's a girl. When I get into the Chamber of Secrets and all the later books, I'll make her much more defined. But I'm making her quite different from Harry, aren't I? She's much more sarcastic and witty- but I don't want her to be like Ron, so I'm afraid I may need to make her quieter then she is now. Should I? It's not going to happen soon- maybe after Sirius dies- but I just don't know.**

**Reviews would be appreciated!  
**

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


	14. Quick Author's Note

**Hey, guys!  
Sorry if you were expecting a chapter- this is just an author's note. I've gotten many complaints that Charlie Potter is almost copied word-to-word from the original series, so I'm going to remind you: **_**Charlie Potter is only an eleven year old. **_**She's exactly like Harry- except for the fact that she's not. For one, she's more witty and sarcastic, but I don't really want to change that because I can't really do anything until the later years, when she finally knows heartbreak.**

**In the upcoming chapters, I'll try to make her as different as Harry as possible- since that's what you guys want- but I'm **_**not **_**going to get rid of the major points, like: **

**Her selflessness**

**Her bravery**

**Her kindness**

**Her ability to love**

**I'll try to make the next chapter as different as possible.**

**Love, hugs, and all that jazz,**

**Lyricalyrics**


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